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Literary Alumnae of Wellesley. Mary A. Winston, '89 59 

The Poet's Song. Mary Hollands McLean 70 

In His Majesty's Service. Kent Rolla Bunlap 70 

Sunset. Julia 8. Buffington 75 

The Complaint of the Yeoman to Langland. Mabel A. Carpenter ... 75 

The Leaf. Julia D. Randall . .80 

Bessie's Red Roses. '95 81 

One Halloween 82 

The Message of the Golden-rod. Agnes Louise Caldwell, '96 ... 85 

Woodstown: A Fantasy. By Alphonse Daudet. Florence McM. Painter . 85 

A Misunderstanding. 8. C. W., '95 89 

Little Lydia's First Day at School. Emily Poole Baxter 89 

Editorials 93 

Free Press 96 

Exchanges 102 

Book Reviews 104 

Books Received 105 

Society Notes 105 

College Bulletin 107 

College Notes 107 

Alumnae Notes 110 

Married 116 

Born 116 

Died 116 

wol in — IRovember, 1894— -mo. 2 

Entered In the Post Office at Wellesley, Mass., as second-class matter. 




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The Wellesley Magazine. 

Vol. III. WELLESLEY, NOVEMBER 17, 1894. No. 2. 









The Wellesley Magazine is published monthly, from October to June, by a board of editors 
chosen from the Senior Class. 

All literary contributions may be sent to Miss M. G. Caldwell, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass. 

All items of college interest, and communications to be inserted in the department of Free Press, 
will be received by Miss Sarah C. Weed, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass. 

All alumnae news should be sent to Miss Maude R. Keller, Wellesley, Mass. 

Advertising business is conducted by Miss Elizabeth A. Stark, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass. 

Subscriptions to the Magazine and other business communications in all cases should be sent to 
Miss Alethea Ledyard, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass. 

Terms, $2.00 per year; single copies, 25 cents. Payment should be made by money order. 


"There was once a good little maiden with a beautiful fairy godmother. 
Ah! did she wear glass slippers, and marry her sweetheart Prince? 
Nay, whenever she spoke, roses and pearls dropped from her lips." 

It happens at Wellesley once in a great while that a young- maiden may 
brush away the gold of her hair from her wistful eyes and dream beautiful 
dreams, and see wondrous visions, as she walks the stately college halls 
and drinks in the ever-changing charm of lake and wood. Upon the 
trembling lip of such a maiden that lovely fairy godmother, our Alma 
Mater, lays her finger, saying softly, " Speak, my daughter." Then, 
wonderful to relate, some of the beautiful dreams come true. For you 
know a dream, to come true, must find wings, that it may bear to the world 
its message of truth and beauty. So then, gentle reader, I, a humble 
chronicler of others' shining deeds, find this a pleasant task, to tell of dreams 
come true. Even in babyland, which should be also fairyland, the first 
question of the eager little student in fairy lore is always, "Is it a true 
story, mamma?" And what satisfaction is found in the answer: "Yes, 


my darling, as true as truth ; for that little maid's heart was gentle and true, 
and her thoughts were loving and good. How, then, could her words fail 
to be sweet as roses and pure as pearls ? " 

I desire to state at the outset that this new field into which my adven- 
turous pen has carried me is not entered in the spirit or fashion of a critic. 
Here is to be found only a catalogue, complete, so far as possible, of the 
work of Wellesley's young authors, the eldest of whom have as yet but 
barely reached the mid-prime of life. As I read the various communica- 
tions which have come to me from these sonnet-spinners and story- weavers, 
I am struck with the thought that it is time some humble Homer rose to 
sing their victories. For I am quite sure none of them will ever do it for 
themselves. High in the crown of these seekers after fame must Modesty 
be set, a glowing jewel. In every letter I find it. "I do not feel that I 
ought to enter myself among the literary graduates of Wellesley." " I 
prefer that you would not put me in your article where I cannot but appear 
as a fine specimen of a fizzle," and so on. It can be readily seen, therefore, 
that if our literary sisters are too modest to speak of themselves and their 
work, their unfortunate historian has been forced to gather her information 
as best she could from other sources. 

Viewing as a whole the work of Wellesley graduates who have taken 
to literature, one finds that for the most part they have chosen to express 
themselves in verse or are prose short story writers. A few have published 
books, but as yet no novel writer has appeared among them. Only one or 
two' make literary work the business of their lives, most of them finding 
time for the beloved writing in the midst of pressing home duties or the 
toils of teaching. But that, in the sixteen years since graduates have gone 
forth from Wellesley, literary work has already been done of which our 
Alma Mater may justly be proud, I do not need to add. 

I do not know whether Miss Mary Russell Bartlett was the first 
Wellesley graduate to publish any of her writings, but as she is a member 
of the Class of '79, Wellesley's oldest, she properly comes first in this 
sketch. Miss Bartlett belonged to that favored band of gifted ones who 
enjoyed the personal friendship of our great founder, Mr. Duraut. His 
sensitive poet spirit recognized the kindred spark in her nature, and he had 
great faith in her powers. While an undergraduate she took a college 


prize for a poem, and wrote a charming sonnet for the silver wedding of 
Mr. and Mrs. Durant. After the death of Mr. Durant, she read a beautiful 
poem to his memory before the Alumnae Reunion at the Hotel Vendome, 
Boston. This poem is considered the finest of Miss Bartlett's work. It 
would be pleasant to quote at length from it, but we have space for only the 
following eloquent lines : — 

"He spake as the beloved patriarch spake: 
' I die, — but God shall visit you with good; 

You shall go up, my children, and shall take 

My prayer, my plan, my purpose for your sake, 

Into your promised land of womanhood.' " 

Since leaving college Miss Bartlett has fully verified Mr. Durant's 
prophecy in regard to her, though she has been much hampered by ill 
health. She has published verse, book-notices, and one story in The 
Boston Evening Transcript ; verse in The Congregationalist, Independent, 
Bric-a-Brac Department of The Century, and in other periodicals ; short 
stories in The Woman's Home Journal, Sunday /School Advocate, and The 
Christian Union. 

We come now in the modest galaxy of Wellesley writers to a group of 
peculiaily bright stars, the poets of the Class of '80. No other class has 
ever presented Welleslej' with such or so many brilliant and gifted students, 
though several classes have nearly trebled '80 in numbers. Miss Clara Jones 
was the first of the Wellesley alumnae to die. She was a writer of much 
promise, and possessed a deeply poetic nature, but she did not live to publish 
any of her work. To us of the younger generation she will be always chiefly 
known as the subject of a tenderly beautiful poem written by her classmate, 
Miss Bates, and beginning: — 

" A soul of music and wind, 

So pure from the gates of birth, 
That how could we hope to bind 
The rare and beautiful mind 
To a perishing form of earth? 

A soul of music and wind, 

A spirit of radiant mirth, 
A heart tbat thrilled to its kind, 
A life with our lives entwined, 

An ecstasy fled from earth." 


Another of the vanished literary stars of '80 is Miss Josephine Cass, 
who went to God in the year 1889. Her versatility as a student and her 
charming verses early marked her as one of the most brilliant members of 
her class. She also found in Mr. Durant a faithful and inspiring friend. 
Hers was a peculiarly sensitive and lovely nature. One of her classmates 
writes of her: "She seemed in some respects like a sister of Keats, — a 
passionate lover of beauty, drinking it in through every sense." Miss Cass 
left a small cycle of rare and dainty verse, which she found time and strength 
to publish occasionally during her short life, though she was a hard-working 
teacher, and her ever-increasing ill health made life a grievous struggle to 
her. Her poems were published in such periodicals as The Boston Tran- 
script, The Christian Union, Springfield Republican, Congregationalist, 
and The Cottage Hearth. A reprint of the best known of her lyrics will be 
found in The Wellesley Prelude for Dec. 7, 1889. Among Wellesley 
students of all time the memory of Miss Cass will be kept forever green ; 
for does not each glad and triumphant class step forth from its Alma Mater 
into the great busy world with the words of her " Alumnee Song" upon its 
lips ? 

Mrs. Marion Pelton Guild wrote charmingly as an undergraduate, and 
her career promised to be one of the most successful after her leaving college. 
Illness, however, both of herself and others of her family, have marred to 
some extent the fulfillment of those early hopes. " But fortunately," she 
herself adds, in speaking of this subject, " I have learned that there is some- 
thing which lies beyond letters, and that is life." Mrs. Guild's pen has not 
been entirely idle in the years since her graduation. She has done knightly 
service for her beloved Alma Mater. She has written a historical sketch of 
the first fourteen years of Wellesley College, which was published by the 
Bureau of Education at Washington in its " History of Higher Education in 
Massachusetts." The year after Mr. Durant died, Mrs. Guild delivered the 
memorial oration at the Alumnae Eeunion, which was afterwards published in 
a little volume with Miss Bartlett's beautiful sonnets. Mrs. Guild also 
wrote the first Commencement Poem read at Wellesley, in 1884. She has 
written articles on Wellesley for The Boston Transcript and The Outlook. 
She has also had verses and stories published in various periodicals, notably 
The Andover Bevieiv. But if one may be privileged to take a peep into a 


little budget of unpublished verse by Mrs. Guild, the property of one of her 
classmates now, one may realize more clearly the charm of this beautiful 
woman's poetic nature. One of these hidden jewel-lyrics, called " Red Roses," 
is especially lovely. 

"I know the sorrow, the gloom, and pain 
Of the world to a soul untried, — 
That my buds will wither, nor bloom again, 
If the gate be opened wide. 
But I cry for freedom, for love, for life ! 
For the real that conquers the dream ! 
And I know that there, in the heart of the strife, 
The victor's banners gleam. 
So I break the barrier, and fly with Fate 
To the red, red roses beyond the gate! " 

Miss Estelle M. Hurll, of the Class of '82, is a busy writer at present, 
and she makes literary work the chief occupation of her life. She is a 
regular contributor to The Congregationalist, The Epworth Herald, Art 
Interchange, Jenness- Miller Monthly, and Far and Near. She has con- 
tributed likewise to The Decorator and Furnisher, Art Amateur, New 
England Magazine, and Poet Lore. Miss Hurll's subjects have nearly 
always been in the line of art or literary criticism, though sometimes, as in 
the case of The Epworth Herald, she writes practical, ethical discourses. 
Miss Hurll has also written a book, which the Joseph Knight Publishing Co., 
of 196 Summer Street, Boston, are just publishing at the present time. The 
volume is entitled "Child Life in Art," and is illustrated with twenty-five 
half-tone cuts. All Wellesley students should see this beautiful work of 
Miss Hurll's, which will surely have a long and successful life, covering as it 
does an almost untouched field hitherto. Miss Hurll is now engaged by 
Houghton, Mifflin & Co. for the editorial revision of an important and well- 
known work on Art in five volumes. When this is done she expects to go 
on to other work based on the study of the old Masters. 

For several years before her marriage the pen of Mrs. Lily Rice Fox- 
croft did excellent work for various religious and household periodicals. 
Her short stories and housekeeping hints were always marked by a vigorous 
and pithy style, which found for them an ever-open, steady market. 

Miss Anna Robertson Brown, of '83, who has since taken a doctor's 
•degree at the University of Pennsylvania, has done considerable literary 


work of value since she left Wellesley. Her work bears a graceful polish of 
style, besides showing a remarkable versatility. She has published poems, 
essays, stories, one or two pieces of music, occasional musical criticisms, 
several Early English studies, a set of translations from the Anglo-Saxon, 
and practical literary papers. Thomas Y. Crowell & Co., of New York and 
Boston, have issued two booklets of Miss Brown's, called, "What Is Worth 
While," and "The Victory of Our Faith." Miss Brown has published 
charming ballads in The St. Nicholas, and her Early English studies were 
printed in Poet Lore. 

Unlike most young writers, who enter the field first with the small fry 
of literature, and by and by gain courage to approach the public with a book, 
Miss Helen J. Sanborn, of '84, came out first with a volume, and a very in- 
teresting one, too. It is a work of travel, called, "A Winter in Central 
America and Mexico," and was published in the spring of 1886, by Lee & 
Shepard, Boston. It has sold very well, for the first edition was soon ex- 
hausted, and the demand for it continues at the present time, eight years 
after its publication, notwithstanding the fact that publishers do not usually 
expect books of travel to have a sale for longer than five years. Miss San- 
born received warm commendations for her book from the press all over our 
country. One journal declares that her chapter on bullfights "forms a 
description as bewitching in style and entertainment as the famous chariot 
race of ' Ben Hur.'" During the past winter Miss Sanborn has published a 
series of letters of travel, with the title "A Trip on the Mediterranean," in 
The Somerville Citizen. 

Miss Jessie Reid, of the Class of '84, may be said to be engaged in 
literary work, for she handles many manuscripts during the course of a year. 
Though none of these are of her own production, she sees a good deal of 
literary life from the publishers' point of view. She has a fine position with 
the great house of MacMillan & Co., in New York. 

The Class of '86 was a very bright one, but only one of their number 
has chosen to write for publication since their graduation. Miss Florence 
Homer has done some literary work of an admirable character, and it is only 
to be regretted that she has of late almost entirely submerged her literary 
ambitions in her desire to be a good primary teacher. The editor of The 
Outlook desired her to become a regular correspondent to the Young People's 


Department of that paper; but she has not availed herself of the privilege, 
owing to illness and school duties. Bat she has published poems, young 
people's stories, and letters of travel in The Outlook, The Advance, The 
New York Observer, Chicago Inter-Ocean, and Heathen Woman's Friend. 

There is among the graduates of Wellesley a certain little lady with 
pretty blonde hair, who wears smart Paris gowns and charming French hats, 
— a little lady who converses with the most lovable Southern accent, and 
thus veils the somewhat quizzical air with which she regards the world. 
This is Miss Abbe Carter Goodloe, of the Class of '89, who was the editor of 
the first undergraduate sheet ever published at Wellesley. After her 
graduation Miss Goodloe studied and traveled in Europe, and on her return 
began to write. Miss Goodloe has had sonnets in The JSFeiu England 
Magazine, Vogue, and The Outlook. Some time ago she published a book, 
which was a tragedy in verse, entitled " Antinous." In the periodical called 
Short Stories two interesting and well-written tales appeared under her 
signature. But by far the most interesting work that Miss Goodloe has 
done is yet to be given to the public. She has written a volume of short 
stories relating to the college life of women, which has recently been accepted 
by Scribner Bros., of New York, who are to publish several of the stories in 
their magazine, prior to their publication in book form. Wellesley students 
especially will look eagerly for the advent of this timely and unique volume. 
There are few, if any, literary works of value portraying that crucial period 
of youth speut in college, though much literature abounds concerning the 
life of younger scholars and of those who have just left college. Miss 
Goodloe's book will therefore find an appreciative and enthusiastic market 
among the many colleges of our land which admit women. 

Of the Class of '90, Miss Mary Barrows did editorial work on The 
Congregationalist for some time after leaving college. At present her plans 
are nebulous, but she is hoping to assist her sisters in getting out their new 
magazine, The New England Kitchen, a sheet which is not only useful but 

A competent critic, who was a teacher of both, has said that of all the 
later verse writers among Wellesley graduates, Mrs. Kent Dunlap Ha>ler of 
'90, and Miss Lilian Corbett Barnes of '91, have by far the most delicate lyric 
gift. It is sad to relate that very little literary work has been given to the 


world by either of these young poets. Mrs. Hagler, whose graceful under- 
graduate verses so often appeared in the pages of our College paper, absorbed 
in her happy married life, seems to have decided that it is better to live a 
poem than to write one ! Of this talented twain, Miss Barnes has accom- 
plished somewhat more. She has written a poem fine enough to be published 
in Eippincotfs Magazine. An exquisite song of hers which appeared in 
The Christian Register we append in full, as it is too beautiful to cut down. 
It was written after the death of her little brother. 


Ballad-songs and hero-stories brave, 

Nursery rhymes of rhythm quaint and fair, 
Cluster round a little grass-grown grave, 

Turn to violets there. 

Water-babies playing in the sea, 

Winged fairies flying in the sun, 
Evermore shall float and wander free, — 

Story-life is done. 

Other hearts may call them as they pass, 

Tell the bedtime legends soft and slow, 
Silent stand I by that bed of grass, 

Where the violets grow. 

Wrens and robins chat and chirp around, 

All the place is sunlit, every tree 
Holds a lullaby of murmuring sound 
■ Like a summer sea. 

Does it hush the folded lids to rest 

With caressing voice? O wand'ring song, 
Through my silence waft thy echoes blest, — 

Come and linger long ! 

Whisper words of childhood through the grass. 

Heaven's blue hills hold music! Mine is done. 
Heaven-born children call him as they pass, 

Shining in the sun. 

The two Florences of '92 are Wellesley's youngest literary children. 
Of these, Miss Florence Converse, who besides being editor of the College 
magazine did considerable outside literary work of high merit while still an 
undergraduate, has been unable to continue since her graduation, owing to 
ill health. A successful poem for Poet Lore has been the extent of her 


Miss Florence Wilkinson is privileged to show a very different record 
from that of Miss Converse, for she has been a prolifie writer in the short 
period that she has been an alumna. She writes : "My plans and aspirations 
are simply to write, — stories, poems, a novel, — to write all I can, whenever 
I can, and as well as I can." And when a young woman enters the battle 
of life in that tone of voice, she generally succeeds. Miss Wilkinson served 
on the staff of the Chicago Graphic during the Columbian Exposition as 
literary editor, and published besides, under her own signature in that journal, 
an illustrated poem, " For Remembrance," a serial story, and a comedietta 
entitled, " A Game at Tennis." Miss Wilkinson's stories have appeared 
also in Harper's Young People, in The Inter-Ocean, and in New York 
Independent, and she has had poems in The Calumet Magazine and The 
Chicago Dial. Miss Wilkinson had the honor of delivering the " Ode for 
the Opening of the Woman's Building," at the World's Fair, May 1, 1893. 
Her graceful lines were afterwards copied by many daily and weekly papers 
throughout the country. 

There have been special students at Wellesley who did not take a 
degree but whose literary work is of interest, and should be mentioned here. 
Mrs. Stocker, of Duluth, Minn., who was a student in the earlier days at 
Wellesley, has since written the music of an entire light opera, which is a 
success. Prominent 'among these specials is the name of Mrs. Delia Lyman 
Porter. In 1884 she published, with G. P. Putnam's Sons, a "Calendar of 
American History," which has had several editions, and was used a good 
deal in schools. In 1891, A. D. F. Randolph issued in one volume five 
short stories of Mrs. Porter's, which had previously appeared in The 
Independent, Christian Union, and elsewhere. The book was entitled 
" The Blues Cure and Other Stories," and has had, and still has, a good sale. 
One of the tales in this book called " The Measuring Rod," was also pub- 
lished by the New York Tract Society, and many thousand copies used. 
Mrs. Porter has likewise published several clever stories in The /St. Nicholas, 
Wide Awake, Congregationalist, and The Outlook. She also had an inter- 
esting article in a recent number of Scribner's Magazine. Miss Annie 
Scoville, for several years a special student at Wellesley, should not be 
forgotten in this connection. She has written for The Youth's Companion 
and other magazines. Her pathetic little Indian tale in The Christian 


Union, entitled "You Have Known It All This While And Never Told Us," 
has been copied and recopied far and wide in many American papers, 
besides being issued in tract form. 

I have left her till the last, because the Class of '80 cannot by right 
claim her all for themselves. She belongs to all Wellesley for all time, by 
right of the genius which is hers. Miss Katherine Lee Bates, professor of 
English literature at Wellesley, is universally agreed to be far and away the 
most brilliant graduate Wellesley has ever turned out. While still a young 
student at college her power was recognized. She even then wrote verse of 
so rare and fine a quality that she received complimentary notice from the 
poet Longfellow, and as early as that her verses were accepted and pub- 
lished by such magazines as The Atlantic Monthly. In the years since her 
graduation, notwithstanding her incessant and overwhelming duties of 
teaching, and her ill health at times, Miss Bates has been an indefatigable 
writer. She has had considerable literary work in the line of editing books 
for class use, entailed upon her as a consequence of the chair she holds 
at Wellesley. Three such books, "The Ballad Book," "The Ancient 
Mariner," and "The Merchant of Venice," have been edited by her for the 
series of English classics issued by Leach, Shewell & Sanborn. But 
even to this semi-hack work, our inimitable professor imparts her own grace 
and depth of thought. Along this same line of work is Miss Bates's book 
on "The English Religious Drama," a series of lectures on the old miracle 
plays. This volume was issued about a year ago by MacMillan & Co., of 
New York, and received hearty commendations from scholarly men and the 
press. The Churchman says of it: "It is a pleasure to find a book so 
scholarly and well-informed ; it is a still greater pleasure to find it in close 
sympathy with its subject. The author outlines her subject with clearness, 
and she lends to its discussion a bright, cheerful style and certain warmth 
of interest which the reader is quick to note and enjoy." As to lighter 
work, Miss Bates has published two books for young people. " Rose and 
Thorn" won a seven hundred dollar prize offered by the Congregational 
Society of Boston, and "Hermit Island" was brought out by the D. 
Lothrop Co. Both of these stories are in the charming, sympathetic vein 
that makes all Miss Bates's work so delightful. The Lothrop house also got 
out a "Wedding Day Book," compiled by Miss Bates; and three dainty 


booklets containing poems of hers, "Sunshine," "Santa Claus's Riddle," 
and " Goody Santa Claus." Miss Bates has allowed her poetry to be used 
for the benefit of various college funds, and two private volumes of verse 
have been printed for this purpose, " The College Beautiful," a collection of 
some of her earlier poems, and " Sunshine," a little sheaf of most exquisite 
lyrics for children. As for magazine work, Miss Bates's verses have 
appeared almost everywhere, and in all the best-known and most important 
periodicals : in The Century, The Atlantic, The Independent, The New 
England Magazine, The Christian Union, The Congregationalist, The 
/Springfield Republican, Youth's Companion, and a host of smaller publica- 
tions. The poem with which she herself feels most satisfaction is " The Ideal," 
published in The Century. It is fervently hoped that the time will not be 
long in coming when Miss Bates may be able to gather together these 
beautiful brain children of hers and present them in a volume before the 
public. Her work needs no commentary of mine. There are none con- 
nected with Wellesley whose hearts have not been stirred by the poetic 
insight, the wonderful. depth and breadth of thought, the pure sweetness, of 
all work that leaves her hand. And the best of it all is that this daughter 
of Wellesley in whom our hearts feel most pride, our flower of learning and 
poetic power, is still a young woman ; and when she shall be able to devote 
all her time and strength to her belovod art, she will do yet more exquisite 
and more wonderful work. 

To the undergraduates of Wellesley, who will read this history and 
who are conscious of secret longings to become recruits in the field of letters, 
the writer of this sketch desires to make one suggestion before laying aside 
her chronicler's pen. If the after life of these brave and gifted women, who 
were not so very long ago joyous and hopeful undergraduates, makes 
manifest any very striking fact, it is that far, far too often those youthful 
hopes have been blighted or destroyed altogether by ill health. So, my 
fair maids of Wellesley, if you would live to make sonnets, spend a goodly 
portion of your college days in making merely muscle and brawn. If you 
would have " roses and jewels" drop from your lips when you speak, see to 
it that they first blossom in your cheeks and sparkle in your eyes. 

Mary A. Winston, '89. 



Many a song wrote the poet ; 

Over the earth they went. 
Toiled he early and toiled he late 

Till life was spent 

Dying, he lay at sunset 

Under the glorious light, 
And a gleam from the inmost heaven 

Shone on him bright. 

Ended for him the earth-songs, 

The last one incomplete; 
Death stopped the singer and straightway Life 

Lay at his feet. 

Out through the sunset portal, 

Into the deathless day, 
The soul of the poet passed that night 

Swift on its way. 

And the song he left unfinished ? 

He learned in another sphere 
The grander chords of the larger life 

He knew not here. 

He finished the song in heaven; 

Its echoes fell to earth. 
In the soul of a poet he could not know 

New songs had birth. 

Mary Hollands McLkax. 


It is noon, Berlin, and in the Cafe Bauer. The room is full of fash- 
ionable people, — officers, diplomats, natives and foreigners of distinction, 
elegant dandies, — old and young, some gay and animated, some silent and 
grave with ennui, some eating and drinking with evident pleasure, some 
listless and bored. In a remote corner, seated at a table by themselves, 
were two young officers wearing the uniform of lieutenants ; handsome 
men, both of them, one fair, the other dark with a fierce black mustache, 
but an honest, open face, good to look at. These were Rudolph and Karl, 
brave soldiers and true men, but mostly remarkable for their friendship for 
each other. They were playmates in their babyhood, and grew up together, 


sharing their toys and confections, their joys and sorrows, even in dresses. 
They went to the same school ; studied the same hooks ; played their pranks 
together and took the same punishment ; loved the same little girls, and 
fought the same little boys ; finally, when they entered the army, they 
joined the same regiment, and were comrades in all things. 

To-day they have lost their usual high spirits. Perhaps it is the con- 
tinual idleness and dissipation of their life in Berlin that has told upon them. 
Rudolph, especially, is moody, and looks pale. He lights a cigar and smokes 
in silence, but all at once breaks out impetuously: "Karlchen, I'm dread- 
fully sick of this business ! I've done nothing for a month but masquerade 
in uniform, dance and flirt with pretty women, lose money at the races, eat, 
drink, and chatter about nothing. We're wasting the best years of our life !" 

" Well, Parson Rudolph, what are you going to do about it? Put on 
a black gown, and go to preaching? Pax vobiscum, Father." 

" There's nothing for me but the cholera or a pistol for one, and a cheap 
funeral. I suppose I must stick it out till then. But another year will find 
me a moral wreck, if I do survive physically. I wish from the bottom of 
my heart we were off to the Congo with those lucky dogs. There's life for 
you, — something to do, at least; danger and plenty of adventure !" 

"Yes," said Karl; "too much sport for my humble insignificance. 
Lots of fun to have elephants walk on you, tigers play leapfrog over you, 
and boa constrictors embrace you fondly ! This life may be tame, but I 
prefer it to the society of the Congo Valley." 

"The trouble with you," said Rudolph, smiling for the first time that 
day, " is that you are in love with that American pig-killer's daughter." 

" She is handsome and agreeable; but how do you know he is a pig 

" O, because he is rich, and comes from Chicago. Rich Chicagoans 
are all pig killers. Now, Karlchen, that American female barbarian is only 
playing with your young and guileless heart. Do you suppose a girl with 
a head of any sort would marry you, with more debts, almost, than the 
Prince of Wales, and nothing but a lieutenant's pay? She likes your bright 
buttons and your wonderful mustache, but she'll never have you, I'll bet !" 

Rudolph, of course, does not in the least convince Karl ; but what is 
the use to argue such a matter? 


"Rudolph," Karl says, " you are as blasd as Monsieur Lamarre over 
there, miserable old rou6 that will never see sixty again. You needn't try 
to make me have the blues, who am the flower of valor, virtue, and inno- 
cence. I still enjoy my beer, and like to make love to the fair dames. My 
digestion is as good as ever in spite of some discouragement. How much 
did you have up on Aladdin, yesterday? I lost a cool thousand." 

"Bah ! I have lost more than I care to count or remember. It doesn't 
even interest me any more." 

"Why, Rudolph, old fellow, you are melancholy enough to be a poet. 
Keep in that tragic mood and you can recuperate your fortune writing 

" I'm not joking, Karl. This life is killing me as sure as I sit here. I 
am not made for this sort of thing. If I could only get back to active ser- 
vice again, lead my boys in battle, live modestly and decently, I might be 
something. What is there here to stimulate a man to do any good in the 
future, or be a man in the present? We are a lot of dandies, idiots, figure- 
heads to show off our clothes ; prizes for fortune hunters and women. I 
shall be a disgrace to my family if I don't kill myself before it is too late." 

" Come, come, this won't do. You aren't such a coward as all that. 
You are doing your duty, and serving your country here as well as you 
would be on the Congo. A soldier must do what he is told." 

"Have we no duty to ourselves?" cried Rudolph. "Must I drink 
moral poison and commit moral suicide that Germany may be glorified with 
my poor body's strength ? A man should have a right to choose for himself 
what his surroundings shall be. He alone knows what he can do, and where 
he is strong or weak." 

" What do you want, Rudolph ?" Karl asked. 

" Oh, nothing now. If I could get out of this life and have a fresh 
start I might be a man. But it's no use. I really think my career is over." 
Karl was anxious and worried. Never before had he seen a man in such 
a state of morbid melancholy and moral helplessness. Unless he could do 
something his friend might really take his own life, as so many had done in 
these circumstances. In an instant he made up his mind to a tremendous 
sacrifice. Perhaps in later years he would bitterly regret this step, but 
theirs was a friendship whose strength could not be measured. 


" Doesn't the Germania leave for the United States to-night?" he asked 
a waiter. 

"Yes, sir; at six o'clock, sir." 

" Bring me some paper and ink, quick," he said, giving the man a piece 
of silver. 

He dashed off two letters, and handed one to Rudolph. "There; we'll 
fix you yet. Read that, and sign your name." 

Rudolph's eyes show signs of coming tears at what he reads, but his voice 
is all a-thrill with joy and gratitude as he stammers : "Will you do this for my 
sake, Karl, dear, dear old fellow ? You shall never be sorry, if I can help it." 

" Never mind now. Get out and pack your duds. You haven't a min- 
ute to lose. Meet me at the station. I will send these." 

"These," were the resignations of Lieutenants Rudolph and Karl from 
His Majesty's service. 

Three weeks later Rudolph and Karl are in New York City. It is a 
warm day, and Karl is in bed with a fever, and cursing the heat with a com- 
mendable zeal. He is restless, and tosses to and fro, making the poor bed- 
stead groan. Beside him sits Rudolph, watching his companion with an 
anxious, tender face, never once turning his head. The sick man asks 
eagerly, " Has the mail com.e?" 

" No, Karlchen, but it must be here soon." 

Rudolph knows only too well what this longing means. This question, 
asked daily ever since their arrival, has made him realize what his friend 
sacrificed for him. He is thinking now what would happen if their resig- 
nations should not be accepted. Of course they will be; but if they are 
not, what then? Rudolph could not think further. His mind was dazed 
with conflicting feelings. He did not know what he would do; he was 
afraid to think of Karl. Was anything stronger than their friendship? 

"Don^ look so solemn, Rudolph," said Karl, noticing his friend's 
gloomy face. "You might have the horrors if you had seen what I did a 
moment ago. The Devil came to me and made me sign a contract, agreeing 
to serve me all my life in this world of sin, in return for which he was to 
gather me at last unto that silent and pyrotechnic majority down below. 
Rather a bad bargain for him, wasn't it? But when I asked him to abolish 


the German army, the old fellow threw the contract at me and vanished 
with a yell of terror, just as you leaned over me with the medicine." 

" That was rather cheerful," said Rudolph, trying to smile. 

Just then a knock sounded at the door, and a boy handed Rudolph a 
bundle of letters. Karl raised himself in bed on his elbow, and held out 
his other hand imperiously. The thin, white fingers chose a long, official- 
like envelope and tore it open. Then he fell back in a faint. It read: 
' ' Resignation not accepted. Return at once for court-martial, or be announced 
a deserter." Rudolph has its counterpart. 

"Karlchen, shall you go?" Rudolph asks, some hours later. 

"Yes, Rudolph ; I must." 

' ' But you are too ill ; you can't stand the journey. You will risk your life." 

"Don't, don't, Rudolph; you will drive me crazy. Do you think that 
I will be called a deserter ! My father and mother would die of shame. I 
must live. I will not die till I get there, never fear." 

A great sob came from Rudolph, whose head was bowed in his hands. 
Karl's face grew whiter still at the sound. He put his hand on Rudolph's 
shoulder. "Come, Rudolph, you must go, too. You must go if only to 
take care of me. I know I can't live without you." 

"O Karl, I am afraid. What will become of me if I go back there?" 

"Why, my boy, think of your honor. You afraid of a court-martial !" 

Rudolph was roused in a flash. He straightened up, flushed and proud, 
and said passionately : — 

"No; not afraid of court-martial, nor of being branded a deserter, 
even, but afraid of my old way of life ; afraid of idleness, dissipation, vicious 
surroundings, and the ways of wicked men. I will never lose my soul for 
the sake of men's opinion, not even my father's and mother's. But I will 
give even my very soul for you, Karl. You would die on that long journey 
alone. I will go with you." 

The two men looked at each other, knowing then what friendship is. 
One must yield to the other what was more precious than life itself. A great, 
impassable gulf, the immeasurable difference of man from man, had risen to- 
separate them. 

A week later they were on board the steamer. Karl had won : honor 
had won, he said. 


On their return they were reduced to the rank of private. Karl soon 
won his honors back, but Rudolph died before the year was over. Karl 
erected a handsome monument over his grave, but no one else goes there to 
mourn, for men say his career was one of shame. But who can rightly 
judge his fellow-man? 

Kent Roll a Dunlap. 


The day hath been a dreary one, shut in 
Beneath the leaden hemispheres of cloud. 
"Life hath no wings," we said, "'twas meant to crawl; 
Why did we dream, and try to send our thoughts 
Up through gray doubts? 'Twas but the idle reach 
Of hands which, fain to feel the upward lift 
Of other fingers strong, and great, and close, 
But touch their own reflection in the glass." 
The clouds hang heavily above the trees ; 
Each leaf droops, burdened with the sullen tears 
It scarce can hold; the day frets o'er its bars. 
A crack of light! The cage is riven apart! 
Upon the western golden rim of day, 
Which overflows with golden streams of fire, 
There hangs a burning jewel, fierce and bright. 
It bursts! Through upward-swinging gates of gray 
We look on through a glory infinite. 
Eye cannot shape the promise throned there; 
We lift our heads and watch the gray-winged clouds 
Flee, pierced with the splendor of a hope. 

Julia S. Buffington. 


The sun had sunken beyond the Malvern Hills, and the last hints of its 
glory were fading away. Already the air was cool with night dew, which 
hung in gray mist over the low-lying fields. Copses, here and there, rose 
darkly thiough the purple twilight, their upper branches outlined in sharp 
relief against the pale sky. Close at hand, the blossoms of the hawthorn 
hedges shone white through the dusk. Nearer still, flowering flag and 


fleur-de-lis, ranged like ghostly sentinels along the roadside ditch, nodded 
their dim heads. A solemn stillness brooded over the landscape, — a stillness 
which was not lost upon the man who came striding down the road in the 
gathering gloom. Indeed, he had just been lingering, on yonder rise, to 
drink in some of the peace of this beautiful eventime, and to let the calmness 
of nature soothe his own troubled soul. 

But while standing there he had seen a peasant crossing the meadows 
ahead, and being in doubt as to his whereabouts he had begun to hasten, 
that he might overtake the man and inquire of him. Soon the bushes by 
the way separated, and from this opening the yeoman emerged. As he 
saw the advancing figure, but a few yards from him, he placed his hand 
instinctively upon the short knife at his side, and waited. Distinguishing 
the stranger's clerical robes, however, he dropped his defensive attitude, 
and called, in hearty greeting : "Ho, friend! This is a lonely way ; shall 
we fare it together ?" 

"Right gladly, brother," was the response; "though, perchance, it be 
not for long. Is Surratt village far distant?" 

" Not far," replied the yeoman. " I am bound thither." 

The two men talked but little, as they kept rapid pace one with the 
other. Once a belated carriage whirled by them, brave in its array of 
attendants. Although the yeoman doffed his cap respectfully until the 
noisy party had passed, his companion stalked straight on, with covered 
head, giving no sign that he had seen the gay aristocrats. The yeoman 
wondered, but noticing the moody expression of the man by his side, he 
ventured no questions. 

At length, as they came into the outskirts of the hamlet, the stranger 
asked : " Canst tell me of one Robin Wright? I am bidden to seek shelter 
in his house," he added. 

"In sooth, that I can," replied the yeoman, in surprise, " for /am Robin 
Wright. Thou art welcome, — whatever hast brought thee here." 

"I am Will Langland," explained the cleric, — " come from Wychwood, 
on my way to Great Malvern. Thy kinsman, Jack Hood, sent me to thee 
for tidings from the men of this town." 

"Tidings there will be ere long," said Wright, " such as will not tickle 
the ears of the lords." 


As he spoke, he turned aside into a short lane which led up to one of 
the humble cottages. Langland, following at his heels, saw the door flung 
open wide, and a young girl standing there. For an instant her slender 
form was clearly silhouetted against the background of flaming logs in the 
fireplace ; then she sprang forward to meet her father. But as she caught 
sight of "Longe Wille," she shrank back abashed. At this, Eobin Wright 
laughed long and loud, laying his arm affectionately over her shoulder. 
"Oho, Sweetling !" cried he, "marry, if 'tis not thy brave coz, 'tis one who 
comes from him ; so grant him welcome." The maiden stammered a shy 
greeting as they entered the house, but she soon slipped away into a dark 
corner, where she sat quietly all the evening. There she made a pretty 
picture, even in the shadow, her clinging blue gown girdled at the waist 
with silver, and her soft hair falling loosely around her face. 

Her mother, a buxom, comely woman, bustled about to prepare food 
for the unexpected guest, and soon had ready on the massive oak table 
trenchers of savory flesh and rye bread. Both men ate and drank heartily, 
their pewter beer pots clattering an irregular accompaniment to the few 
words spoken. 

When the meal was finished they drew their heavy, carved chairs close 
to the blazing fire, and there sat in silence for a while. Langland's face was 
stern and sad, like that of a man who has great and persistent thoughts hang- 
ing about him. His shaven head and deep-set eyes gave a serious, almost 
somber, effect to his whole appearance. This effect was emphasized by the 
flowing gown of coarse, dark woolen which enveloped his gaunt figure. His 
host was clad in green jerkins, with a jacket and hood of bright red. His 
weather-beaten face was rough and brown, but it was hardly less thoughtful 
than Langland's own. There were lines about the brow, as well as a firmness 
of mouth and chin, not to be mistaken ; they bore witness that this man had 
not only strong convictions, but the courage to hold to his opinions. 

After an interval of quiet, Langland was the first to speak. "It is 
said that the men of Essex are rising against the bailiffs and lords, that would 
make them all villeins again. And surely thou hast heard of the rebellion 
Wat Tyler has been leading?" 

Robin Wright nodded. His black eyes glowed with feeling as he burst 
forth : " What wonder the people turn at last ! They must speak for them- 


selves if the Church will not speak for them. Much better would it be if 
monks and friars should cease from their inward contentions, and give voice 
to the complaints of the oppressed. Much better would it be if the clergy, 
now trembling and creeping before bishops and barons, would rise up and 
speak for the people whom they are thought to serve. Do we give to the 
Church every year twice the kingly revenue that these monks and priests 
may live in luxurious idleness, unmindful of us? Do our offerings spread 
rich feasts for them, that their senses may be dulled to the existence of re- 
sponsibility? Aye, let them hide themselves deep within their magnificent 
cloisters so that they may not hear our cries, but to thee I declare, we will 
be heard!" The speaker had risen, and was pacing the floor excitedly as he 
talked. Langland sat looking intently at the glowing coals, but he said 
nothing. "Yet we cannot turn to the friars, for they, too, have grown hard 
and pitiless. They are lazy and dissolute ; they lie and steal ; there is no 
help in them. As for the clergy, when the plague was raging even they 
failed us and ran away. Cowards ! ! " With these words the yeoman 
brought his brawny fist down upon the table so forcibly that the empty mugs 
rattled. His wife, in approval, muttered, "Yea; cowards they be !" while 
she added a fresh log to the charred pile on the hearth. 

Above the splutter of the green wood Langland's voice rang out again : 
"We all have reason to complain, friend, but whining is useless and 
wearisome, unless it tends toward justice. Who shall act as our judge in 
this matter? When the avarice and ambition of the secular priests, the greed 
and gluttony of the monks, and the dissolute idleness of the friars, make the 
Church deaf to the cries of the people, then shall the people appeal to the king. 
But now that our hope, the Black Prince, is dead, who shall aid us? To 
Edward III. we could not go, for he was only an irresponsible, foolish old man. 
As for the new king, he is but a child, knowing not yet his own throne. The 
government is unstable, and torn to pieces by warring factions " 

"Where, then, shall we look for judgment?" interrupted Wright, 
fiercely. "Who will give heed to our murmurings? I know not. But this 
I do know, — we will never tamely submit. The nobles who think to turn 
us into slaves again shall find that we are strong in our own strength, though 
we have not the aid of Church and State. We are not dogs, to cringe before 
these proud masters ! " 


The yeoman's voice was hoarse with emotion ; his breath came in quick, 
short gasps. The fair little daughter stole to his side, and slipped her arm 
lovingly through his. "Aye, sweetheart, these be troublous times," said 
Wright gently, "but fret not thy head over them." Then he went on, more 
calmly : — 

"It is true that we are better off to-day than we ever were before. For 
although the long-continued wars and the frightful pestilence did cut off our 
numbers, these afflictions ended by benefiting us. Now, by reason of fewer 
workmen, wages are higher, and steadily increasing. Then, too, the same 
causes which weakened us weakened also the nobles, so that they have not 
been able to withstand our well-being. 

"But at length these lords, who have seen us prospering whilst they 
have been growing poorer, think, in their envy, to make us villeins again, 
as our fathers and grandfathers were. They say to themselves : ' The guilds 
of craft are waxing in the towns, and soon what will there be left for us, 
who cannot weave, and will not dig ? We would do well to bring both law 
and force to bear on. these yeomen, and make them again, indeed, our 
subjects. Now their earnings they keep to themselves, so that we reap 
nothing. Let us, thei-efore, lengthen their da}''s work, and bring them 
under the yoke, that we may profit by their labor.' But," Wright went on, 
"I swear to thee, friend, this the people will not abide. We are brave, 
not alone to bear, but also to do. If we endure the mastery of these 
nobles, we shall soon lose our all. Lawyers, with false sheepskins and 
smooth words, will steal our houses and lands from us. Shall we dwell in 
poor huts of mud and reeds, as do our brothers in the North? Shall our 
stanch cottages be given up for hovels? Not while bold speech, and 
bolder deeds, prevail amongst us. We shall hold our fields and dwellings, 
our cattle, and the overplus of our earnings, as our very own. Aye, and 
the day will surely come when no man may say to another, ' Thou shalt,' 
and ' Thou shalt not.' " 

" Then," said Langland, "we are agreed that the prophecy made by 
these vain nobles shall never be fulfilled ; that men and women shall never 
draw the plough in England. Wrong has ruled too long ; now let might 
help right. There are great evils to be overcome, and there are petty 
grievances to be remedied. There has, in sooth, been much of late to sober 


men's minds ; first, swords made desolate the country, and then the ' Black 
Death ' followed, to devour what the weapons had spared. But the end is 
not yet, and the worst will be still, if the nation remains divided against 

"Only when protection is accorded to the rights of peasants, only when 
the lords withdraw their demands, and only when the Church becomes a true 
mediator between people and state, can peace reign. The day when these 
things shall be true may be far distant, but I believe it will surely 

Langland's words died softly on his lips. His eyes seemed looking 
away into the future of which he was dreaming. Beside him Robin 
Wright sat, with one hand resting lightly upon his daughter's yellow 
locks ; while the child, kneeling on the floor, her head against her father's 
arm, — was fast asleep. 

Mabel A. Carpenter. 


(Translated from the French of Arnault.) 

Thou little leaf, from thy stem rudely torn, 

Thou little leaf, all withered and sere, 
Where is the haven whither thou'rt borne ? 

Of that I know nothing, but naught do I fear. 
The tempest hath riven the oak so strong, 

Which hath been mine only abiding place. 
The zephyr hath wafted me gently along, 

Or the north wind, running his mighty race, 
Hath driven me forth from my forest still, 
Hath tossed me and whirled me o'er meadow and hill; 
Submissive, o'er mountain and dale I roam 
Since the day when I left my forest home. 
Wherever the wanton wind doth blow, 
Without a misgiving or fear I go. 
And whither I go shall come, in time, 
All the beautiful flowers of every clime; 
Not only the flower of love, the rose, 

But the laurel, that noble men have won. 
All earth's blossoms go to that long repose 

To which I am wafted slowly on. 

Julia D. Randall. 



It was a morning in mid-August. The sun, coming in through the 
half-closed shutters, streaked the ceiling with broad bands of light, upon 
which the shadows of the woodbine danced merrily. I could hear the low 
twittering of the birds. I knew that all the outdoor world was sweet and 
fresh, glowing with the silvery light which is reflected from dew-covered grass 
and trees. I could almost smell the perfume of the garden roses, and yet, 
the loveliness of the new day roused in me no answering lightness of heart. 
I was haunted by a feeling of oppression, a kind of nameless dread, which I 
knew would become very bitter and very real as soon as I was quite awake. 

I tried not to think, and finding that a hopeless task, attempted to fix 
my mind upon the little woodbine ghosts which danced about the walls. 
The effort was in vain. Slowly the vague feeling of unrest deepened into 
a consciousness of some great grief, and then I remembered that it was 
but two days since Bessie died. 

It was such a little time, — only one short year since the whole village 
was thrown into a flutter of delight by the marriage of its fairest daughter. 
Never was the building of so small a house watched with such tender, if 
curious eyes ; never was a girl bride followed by warmer wishes or more 
heartfelt Godspeeds. It did not seem possible that any sorrow could 
cloud a life so full of sweetness and of promise ; and yet, in that one year 
from the home which had been unbroken until Bessie went away, there had 
gone the brother and the sister, and Bessie had once said, " If I should die 
you must not send me flowers. Their sweetness has been spoiled for me by 
painful memories." 

When I went with mother for our morning walk about the large, old- 
fashioned garden, the lilies and the heliotrope, even the glad, yellow pansies, 
seemed to say "their sweetness has been spoiled for me by painful 
memories." I could not bear to look at them, and had turned back toward 
the house, when my eye fell upon a beautiful cluster of red roses. 
Instantly there came the thought, these roses are for Bessie ; and my mind 
was so filled with the one idea that I did not think it strange when mother 
said, " Our Bessie should have this spray." As she gave the stem into my 
hand I took it eagerly, breaking off one bud which was imperfect. 


So strongly was the mysterious conviction that these particular roses 
belonged in some strange way to Bessie impressed upon both our minds, 
that later in the morning mother consented to take them to her. 

The nurse came to the door. She was an old woman who cared for 
" Missy" when a child, and now for many long weeks had watched the frail 
young life slip gradually away from those she loved. The woman's eyes 
were full of tears, but when she saw the flowers her face lit up. She took 
them jealously, exclaiming, "Missy's roses; how many are there here?" 
She counted them with trembling hands, and saying, " Yes, just six," went 
in and closed the door. 

Late that afternoon we came together in the tiny parlors. The slight, 
girlish figure was all in white, against which the red of the roses, which the 
small hand held, seemed richer and more deep. The brown hair waved 
lightly from her forehead as it used to do, and the lips smiled a little, as if 
in sleep. The distance was so short that those tall young men, who had 
been her ushers, easily carried their precious burden down the street to a 
quiet cemetery, which lay upon the hillside there. The only music was 
a soft trill from the birds, the only knell a noiseless peal from the harebells ; 
and as we came away, the long rays of the sinking sun filled the whole 
world with a glory of golden light. 

Several weeks later the nurse called upon us, and I ventured to ask the 
meaning of her strange words that August morning. She hesitated a 
moment, looked at me earnestly as if to make sure of my sympathy, then 
said: "That night when Missy died, as we were there alone, I heard her 
counting to herself. She spoke softly, yet distinctly, and over and again I 
heard the words, ' One, two, three, four, five, six.' ' What is it, dear?' I 
said. 'What is it that you see?' And with a faint return of her old 
radiant smile, she whispered, ' Six red roses.'" '95. 


The morning of the thirty-first of October was ushered into the 
calendar with fair, west breezes, blue sky, plenty of sunshine, and a general 
air of health and happiness, as if it were wishing a cheery day to the world 
at laroe. 


But before noon the gray clouds gathered over the azure, and the wind 
rose in howling gusts, growing stronger as the day wore on ; by twilight 
the storm-king was out in all his fury, and such another night had not 
been known in all the country round for years. Men shook their heads 
as they gazed out over the black waters of the bay, then hurried on to their 
cozy cottage fire-light, and before six o'clock the streets of the little village 
by the sea were almost deserted. 

Only here and there appeared a lonely figure, buffeting with wind and 
rain ; and soon even these had gone their ways, — all save one, a slight, 
slender woman, against whom the pitiless storm raged fiercely, at times 
nearly taking her from her feet. But she kept on bravely, past the row of 
brightly lighted cottages (for to-night was All-Hallow's Eve, and inside the 
good folk waxed merry over their frolicking, though all the fiends were 
rioting outside) ; past the post office, the store, and the doctor's old home, 
where he and his father before him had ministered to the physical ills of their 
townsfolk ; past them all and out onto the dreary meadow that lay beyond 
the village, till the little form was swallowed up in the great darkness of 
the night. 

The meadow was the pride and delight of the shire in the early spring- 
time, when the go wans and the primroses carpeted it, and the birds 
carolled over it in the sunshine ; and through the summer days, and the long, 
long gloamings the young folk loved it, too, — loved to roam over it and rest 
on its soft grasses when the day's work was done ; and many a time had its 
ancient trees heard the same sweet old story told under their friendly 

But in the winter, or when the fierce autumn storms raged, the meadow 
was a different place. Then the winds swirled over it in fierce, angry blasts, 
and the trees shook and quivered like wild things in terror ; then the 
"blackness of great darkness" enveloped the meadow, and one out upon it 
knew not where to turn, nor whither to go. 

Here, the story goes, on just such a stormy night, one Halloween 
many years ago, the minister's only daughter had come alone to try her fate. 
Then, in the darkness, strange figures had been seen, and muttered words 
heard even in the village, and on the storm-wind had come sounds of 
wild revelry, which boded " naught of good, but much of evil " to the town ; 


and in the morning news came to the villagers that their young lady was 
gone, — none knew where, — and then they knew that the fairy folk had been 
on the meadow, and had taken her away. 

"She will na coom back tae us," the old wives said, "till the nicht 
when the minister himsel' gangs his ain gait on the lang journey ; then the 
fairy-folk will send her to show him the way ayont the meadow to whaur 
the ' many mansions ' be." 

So the story had been told for long years ; and now, when all the fury 
of the storm was hurling itself upon the meadow, when again the fairies 
were at work, and all nature-forces seemed ready for some awful deed, in 
the old manse on the hill above the meadow the minister lay dying. AIL 
the house was silent, — empty save for the little group in the sick room, and 
the one lonely watcher in the kitchen below. There was no sound but the 
ticking of the old clock and the faint breathing of the sick man, save when, 
at intervals, the fierce gusts shook the house. The hands of the clock 
pointed to twelve, and as, one by one, the strokes of the hour slowly rang 
through the stillness, the minister opened his eyes and smiled, — smiled so 
gladly, that those who saw it never forgot that look as he said softly : — 

" She is coming now; I can hear the footfall, almost see the face. 
Yes, dear, I am waiting — waiting for you — but the time " 

They knew where his thoughts were, but they could not see as he did, 
and they tried to sooth him. Yet his eyes turned restlessly to the doorway, 
and the intense, eager look grew stronger. 

" She is almost here — almost — here," they heard him whisper. 

As they bent over him, such a mighty blast shook the house that it 
seemed as if no power could withstand its force. 

Down in the lonely kitchen the old servant sat waiting, but as the 
sound of the wind died away in the distance, a noise outside made her 
start. A feeble knock, a faint voice calling, seemed the sound. Hastily 
she opened the door. There, on the threshold, stood a woman, wearied, 
worn out with the storm ; but as she tottered in, old Ailson gasped with 
terror : — 

"An' it's no yoursel' coom back tae us on sic a nicht, Miss Marget ! 
O my dearie, my dearie, my heart's ben sair after ye these mony a year, — 
but ye hae but coom in time. The minister is waitin' ye, I ken, till he 


gangs awa' tae find the wife he loved sae weel. But, O my dearie " and 

the old woman sobbed, as she held the slender figure fast in her loving arms. 

"Hush! wait! I must go to him now;" and Margaret went swiftly, 
softly to the door of her father's room. Quiet, silent, but the watchful 
eyes on the pillow still gazed for the dear face ; and as she knelt beside 
him those about him heard the low, glad cry, "She has come, — dear Lord, 
I thank thee;" and the tired soul laid down its burden of life, and in that 
hour of thankfulness went home to God. 

Outside the storm raged on, but with the morning came the calm, and 
down in the village the people said, "The fairy folk hae sent her back tae 
help us bear it, noo the dear minister's awa'." 


What dost thou come to tell us, lovely flower, 

Lifting above the earth thy golden head? 

That all the summer's children now are dead, 
That they adorn no more our favorite bower? 
That Mother Earth looks somber with the shower 

Of poor brown leaves, that fall just as if led 

By some mad impulse, some forewarning dread 
That now will come a lonely, silent hour? 
"Not so," I hear thee whisper, soft and low. 
"I do not come to tell of death or pain; 
But breathing it on all the winds that blow, 

So that on earth the message shall remain, 
I tell that this is only seeming woe : 

The flowers sleep, but they shall live again." 

Agnes Louise Caldwell, '96. 



It was an ideal site for a city. All that was necessary to perfect it was 
to clear the banks of the river by cutting away part of the immense virgin 
forest which had been growing there since the creation of the world. 
Then, sheltered all around by wooded hills, the city would slope down to 
the wharves of a magnificent harbor in the mouth of the Red River, only 
four miles from the sea. 


As soon as the Government at Washington had made the grant, car- 
penters and woodcutters began work ; but there never was such a forest. 
It was rooted to the ground by all its branches, so that when they cut at one 
place it grew from another. The wounds sprouted, so that every stroke of 
the axe brought forth green buds. As soon as the streets and squares of 
the city were laid out they were overgrown with vegetation. The trees 
grew faster than the walls, which fell as soon as they were raised, thrown 
down by the pushing of the undying roots. 

In order to put an end to this struggle, in which the steel of axe 
and hatchet was dulled for nothing, the settlers had recourse to fire. Day 
and night a stifling smoke filled the depths of the woods, while the great 
trees above flamed like candles. The forest still tried to defend itself, 
fighting the fire with floods of sap aud the heavy dampness of its thick 
foliage. Finally winter came ; the snow fell like a second death on the 
blackened trunks and roots. At last building could begin. 

Soon a city, all wood, like Chicago before the fire, stretched along the 
banks of the Bed River. It was an immense city, with broad streets, all 
numbered, radiating out from little parks. It had its Exchange, its 
markets, its churches, its schools, and a whole maritime equipment of sheds, 
customhouses, storehouses, wharves, and dry docks. The wooden city, 
Woodstown, as they called it, was soon filled with the people who dry the 
plaster of new cities. A feverish activity filled all its quarters, but on the 
.surrounding hills, commanding the crowded streets and the harbor full of 
shipping, rose a somber and menacing semicircle. It was the forest, 
looking on. 

It watched that presumptuous city which had robbed it of its place on 
the bank of the river, and of three thousand noble trees. All Woodstown 
was made of the forest's own life. The high masts which rocked }'onder in 
the harbor, the innumerable roofs sloping toward one another, to the 
very last cabin of the most distant suburb, — the forest had furnished all, 
even the tools and furniture ; its uses were limited only by the length of its 
branches. What deep resentment, then, it treasured against that city of 
robbers ! 

As long as winter lasted no one noticed anything. The people of 
Woodstown sometimes heard muffled noises in their roofs or their furniture. 


Sometimes a wall cracked, or a shop counter suddenly split in two. But since 
unseasoned wood is liable to such accidents, they thought nothing of it. 
When spring drew near, however, — a sudden, violent spring, so rich in sap 
that you could hear it under ground, like the rippling of brooks, — the earth 
began to heave, moved by mighty, unseen forces. In every house the 
furniture and wainscotings swelled, and long ridges, like mole passages, 
appeared on the woodwork. Doors and windows would not open ; every- 
thing refused to move as usual. "It is the dampness," said the people; 
" when warm weather comes, that will all pass away." 

One day a great storm was blown in from the sea, bringing summer in 
its vivid lightning and warm rain. The next morning the city awoke with 
a cry of stupefaction. The red roofs of the public buildings, the church 
steeples, the framework of the houses, even the bedsteads, were covered 
with a sprinkling of green, fine as the mould on leather, delicate as a queen's 
lace. Looked at closely it was a multitude of tiny buds, which already 
showed the rolled-up leaves. This caprice of the rain interested the people 
without alarming them ; but before evening tufts of foliage broke forth 
everywhere, on the furniture and walls. Branches could be seen to grow, 
and if you held one in your hand you could feel it swell and flutter like 

The next day all the rooms looked like hothouses. Creepers climbed 
the balusters. In narrow streets, branches joined one roof to another, 
casting the shade of forest glades over the noisy city. This became alarm- 
ing. While the scientists gathered and discussed this unprecedented 
botanical phenomenon, the people crowded together outside to look at the 
different phases of the miracle. The cries of surprise and the astonished 
murmuring of all that motionless crowd gave a certain seriousness to the 
strange occurrence. Suddenly some one cried, "Look at the forest!" 
With terror the people saw that in the last two days the green semicircle 
had come much nearer. The forest seemed to be descending toward the 
city. A whole advance guard of briars and creepers stretched out as far as 
the first houses of the suburbs. 

Then Woodstown began to understand, and to be frightened. Evi- 
dently the forest was coming to regain its place on the bank of the river ; 
and its trees, felled, dispersed, transformed, were making their escape to 


go before it. How could the invasion be resisted? Fire would be liable to 
burn the whole town. Of what use, too, were axes against that sap, which 
was always being renewed, and those monstrous roots, attacking the earth 
beneath, and those millions of flying seeds, which germinated when they 
were broken and sent up a tree wherever they fell ? 

Still, everyone set bravely to work with scythes, harrows, and axes, 
and soon cut away an immense quantity of brush. But in vain they toiled. 
From hour to hour the entangled thickets of the virgin forest, where the net- 
work of creepers joins the gigantic treetops, took possession of the streets 
ofWoodstown. Insects and reptiles invaded the city. There were nests 
in all corners, and great fluttering of wings, and knots of little chattering 
beaks. In one night the granaries of the city were emptied by the newly 
hatched broods. Then, like a grim jest in the midst of all this disaster, 
butterflies of all sizes and colors flew to the bunches of bloom ; and provi- 
dent bees, searching for safe hives in the hollows of those quick-sprung 
trees, laid their honey-combs, like a proof of the forest's long standing. 

In the noisy billows of foliage the heavy strokes of axes were vaguely 
heard ; but on the fourth day everyone saw that all work was impossible. 
The grass was too high and thick. Clinging creepers fastened to the arms 
of the woodcutters and bound them down. Moreover, the houses had become 
uninhabitable ; the furniture, covered with leaves, had lost all form. The 
ceilings fell, pierced by the lances of yuccas and the tall shafts of mahogany 
trees; and instead of roofs, towered immense domes of catalpas. That was 
the end. There was nothing left but flight. 

Through the network of plants and branches, which wove themselves 
closer and closer, the panic-stricken people of Woodstown rushed toward 
the river, with all the riches and precious things they could carry. But it 
was almost impossible to gain the river-side. There were no wharves left ; 
nothing but immense reeds. The dry docks, where the lumber for ship- 
building was stored, had given place to pine groves ; and in the harbor, full 
of flowers, the new ships rode like green islands. Fortunately the people 
found several ironclads ; they crowded on board for refuge, and watched 
the old forest victoriously join the new. 

Little by little the tree-tops interlocked, and, under the sunny blue 
heaven, the enormous mass of foliage reached from the river banks to the 


distant horizon. Not a trace was left of the city, — not a roof or a wall. 
From time to time far echoes of the last-falling ruins, or of the axe of some 
maddened woodcutter, sounded through the depths of the forest. Then 
nothing remained but the tremulous, murmurous, musical silence of the 
forest, the clouds of white butterflies dancing over the deserted river, and 
far away, toward the open sea, a fleeting ship, with three great green trees 
in the midst of its canvas, carrying the last emigrants from what had been 

Florence McM. Painter. 


Came the West Wind, careless rover, 

Came and lightly kissed the rose. 
No one knows, 
No one knows the whole world over 

Why she turned her head away ; 
Turned, his coming would not greet, 
When the West Wind kissed her sweet. 

Then the West Wind, reckless lover, 
Lightly, lightly shook the rose. 
No one knows 
How, dismayed, he sighed above her; 

For her petals, one by one, 
Fell, down-dropping strewn they lay; 
Then the West Wind stole away. 

S. C. W., '95. 


It was a bright morning in early June when little Lydia gayly started 
out for her first day in school. The happiest little maid in all the world was 
she as she walked along by the side of her grave twelve-year-old sister Eunice 
to the sage brown schoolhouse just across the tiny silver stream from her 
father's farm. It had been the dream of her life to go there. The dim, low 
room, and the rows of battered desks with their rude carvings, had for her a 
mysterious charm. 


No wonder, then, that her tight, yellow braids fairly danced about under 
her broad sunbonnet. Her feet, so finely dressed in her best white stockings 
and in her one pair of shoes, could hardly be expected to trudge calmly on„ 
The sun shone brightly on her plump, bare arms and stiffly starched "tire," 
while her crisp, beruffled pantalettes had continually to be stroked and patted 
to keep them properly down. But if her tidy little person itself showed 
delight, it was nothing to the joy that darted here and there on the small face 
within the broad-rimmed sunbonnet, as if it could only find its true expres- 
sion in the smiling eyes and merry lips of. children. Onward the sisters 
trudged, eager Lydia hardly stooping to pick a buttercup as she hastily sped 
away, leaving an aching mother's heart at home. 

In the sunken, poplar-shaded porch the mother stood watching her fast- 
disappearing baby. For many days she had known that it was now time that 
Lydia went to school. Little Lydia herself begged every morning to go. 
But none the less, now that the baby had really gone, the loss came to her 
with all the force of a fresh grief. Lydia was her joy and her fear. Her 
fear, because the child's father, a worthy elder, had serious doubts as to 
whether the little Lydia, with her beauty-loving nature, were really a " child 
of election." Indeed, in her passionate love for music he saw only an in- 
stance of that depravity which had led men to put into their meeting-houses 
" boxes of ungodly whistles," as if their noise could be acceptable to God. 
As the mother's own life had been one long struggle against her love of 
beauty and her own light-hearted disposition, she alone understood the long- 
ing in her child's nature. Her husband had once said her own sin of levity 
was being visited upon the next generation. Perhaps it was true. So from 
the time of Lydia's sunny babyhood until only yesterday, when the little 
maid had rushed in from play to have a scratched place kissed well, there had 
been a perfect understanding between mother and daughter. With sad 
thoughts of her loneliness and fears for the baby's future, the mother watched 
the little figure until it disappeared. Then, slowly turning, she went back to 
her hard, dreary work. 

Two hours dragged slowly on. Meanwhile Lydia was tired enough of 
school. At first it had all been great fun. With dignity she had taken oft' 
her bonnet and hung it on a nail. Then she had been placed with a " seat- 
mate " in the back row, while Eunice had gone to the first form with the big 


girls. For a time she had listened attentively to the class reciting from the 
Westminster Primer such charming and instructive couplets as 

"In Adam's fall we sinned all," 


" Zaccheus he did climb a tree 
For his Lord to see." 

Very soon, however, she grew tired and thirsty. It was so warm there. The 
sharp elbows of the seatmate kept sticking into her. The children's monot- 
onous reciting made her drowsy. Her shoes, too, were uncomfortable, and 
her stiff "tire" scratched her neck. Outside the birds sang to her of sweet 
clover fields, and the brook babbled of shady willow nooks, where cool waters 
would bathe her aching little feet if only she would come to them. 

If all these things had not persuaded her to play truant, I am sure the 
next thought would have. It was Wednesday, the very day when her 
mother made ginger cookies. Surely they never could be made without her 
help, and then, too, she would lose her " gingerman," which she always 
baked for herself. In another moment Lydia had slipped from her seat and 
was running home, filled with the unselfish desire to help her mother. 

In the big kitchen the mother was just putting the last pan of cakes into 
the huge, brick oven, when she was suddenly seized about the neck and 
kissed again and again by Lydia's warm, red lips. It was so good to feel 
those kisses on her tired cheek, that I think the mother would never have 
come to any sense of her daughter's wickedness had she not heard her 
husband calling sternly to her, ' ' Mehetabel ! " Little Lydia, however, knew 
well enough what it all meant, and, with another hug, was gone. A moment 
later the father himself appeared, and demanded Lydia. He had seen the 
truant cross the meadow to the house. Tremblingly the mother said that she 
did not know where the child was. It was not long, however, before the 
father found her himself, curled up in the trundle-bed, which in the daytime 
was always rolled under the big four-poster. 

Apparently unmoved by the pathetic little figure, he rather roughly 
helped her out. Then leading her into the kitchen, he made her take off her 
shoes and stockings. That done, he said severely, "Come with me." With 
one timid glance little Lydia tremblingly put her tiny hand into her father's 


great brown one. Straight on he led her, not by the road, but straight ahead 
down to the brook's edge. Hesitating for an instant the child gazed into her 
father's face, as if to ask him what was to happen. Yet with childlike confi- 
dence she allowed herself to be led on through the shallow water, up the 
bank, even to the schoolhouse. Then Lydia showed that she too was in part, 
at least, a true daughter of her Puritan father. Not once did she murmur or 
beg to be spared the humiliation of entering as a wet, bedraggled truant, the 
room into which she so shortly before had stepped in almost regal state. 
Through the narrow hall they passed, and in a moment entered the school- 

At first the surprised scholars stared in a dazed way at the two in the 
door. Soon, however, a coarse laugh burst from the rude country boys. 
One great fellow, in a voice hoarse with laughter, roared out, ' ' Ain't she a 
pretty one ! " Only the quivering lips and one bright tear, that, splashing 
down on her "tire" ruffle, left a limp spot there, betrayed the poor child's 
shame. The girls, too, looked critically at her. Her sister Eunice, so like 
her father, looked stern and pitiless. Her immovable father, with his coarser 
perceptions, never for an instant realized what torture he was inflicting on his 
sensitive little daughter. Only the patient mother, as she stood in the door- 
way and strained to see all she could, felt, as she saw her husband leave the 
school alone, that her poor baby had had too severe a punishment. With a 
low cry for her darling's sake, such as even the baby herself would have been 
too proud to utter, the mother turned again into the lonely house. Well 
she knew that once having undergone such a humiliation, little Lydia could 
never again be the same joyous baby. "Perhaps, however," the mother 
whispered softly, " she may have a better chance of becoming a true ' heir of 
grace,' for through sorrow we are all made perfect." 

Emily Poole Baxter. 



Once more we wish to bring to the notice of our readers the advertise- 
ment department of the Magazine, which we fear has not heretofore received 
all the attention it merits. We are forced to this conclusion by the state- 
ments of several old advertisers, who say that, to their knowledge, they have 
received little return from their investments. Now, we may infer from this 
one of two things : either our readers have not patronized the advertisers, or 
they have failed to mention the Magazine when they have made purchases. 
We think the latter the correct inference, since those firms who give student 
discount, and thus know who their purchasers are, have offered no complaint. 

This department should be of interest to every Wellesley girl. In the 
first place, it is only by means of these advertisements that we are able to 
offer the Magazine at the present terms. Secondly, it was our intention to 
make these advertising pages a sort of shopping guide, especially for those 
who are not acquainted with Boston stores, and for this reason the Magazine 
aims to advertise only the most reliable firms. 

Those who patronize the Magazine ought, other things being equal, to 
be patronized by its readers, and we wish to ask the co-operation of the 
individual Wellesley girls in this matter, since on that the success of the 
Magazine depends. We ask them, therefore, to. examine the advertisements 
carefully, and, when possible, to trade with the firms whose names appear ; 
also to mention the Magazine when making purchases, since only in this way 
our patrons may know that their advertisement has been noticed. 

The news of the death of Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes carried with it 
a sense of personal loss to many readers, who, through his works, had learned 
to know and love him. The genial Autocrat, the witty Philosopher, and 
the sympathetic Poet will long be mourned by those who have listened to 
his voice "at the Breakfast Table" and "Over the Teacups." Cover- 
ing a wide range of subjects, his talks abounded in insight, and bubbled 
over with healthful fun. His jests were never malicious, and his satire was 


never bitter. He touched upon human failings without awakening resent- 
ment; he was the keenest of critics, — and yet the most gracious. We 
think of him as an observant, cultured friend, — a man of versatile gifts. 

Physician, philosopher, novelist, poet, lecturer, and scholar, in one, — 
he was an illustrious representative of intellectual New England. What- 
ever he did was done with brilliancy and finish. Although marvel ously 
quick, his mind was accurate and retentive. His conversation sparkled with 
wit, bright, clean, and cheerful. 

Still, underneath the surface ripples of humor, there flowed a steady 
current of deep thought. His stories, notably "Elsie Venner," bear 
witness to his serious psychological investigations ; they are both powerful 
and interesting. Furthermore, for thirty-five years he filled the chair of 
anatomy and physiology in the Harvard Medical School, where he won 
distinction and honor in his profession. 

Born in Cambridge, Dr. Holmes belonged not only to " Old Boston," 
but to what he himself was pleased to term "the Brahmin caste" in New 
England. Because of his pride in his native city and in his Puritan ances- 
try, he has often been called an aristocrat, and man of the world. His, 
however, was an aristocracy of high breeding and kindly manners, — a 
world of the noblest things in life and art. 

His real nature, simple and unaffected, showed itself at its best in his 
verse. Such poems as "The Chambered Nautilus," "The Last Leaf," and 
"Under the Violets," with its lines on "her little mourners clad in 
black, " — the crickets who are to pipe a mass for the dead maiden below, — 
give him a foremost place among our poets. His song rings with the true 
lyrical quality ; it is the spontaneous outburst of a serene and sunny spirit. 

Dr. Holmes was the last of a noteworthy group of American authors 
who have earned enduring fame. The words of Emerson, Hawthorne, 
Longfellow, Lowell, and Holmes constitute the richest legacy which has 
ever fallen to this new nation. It is a significant fact that these men stood 
apart from, and above, the younger generation of writers ; it is a sad fact that 
they seem to have no successors. And now the question arises, " What is 
to be the future of our literature ? " Although the field is thronging with 
workers, there seem to be "no prophets in their midst." The spirit of 
this restless, hurried age is against that writing which should be "too great 


for haste, too high for rivalry." We can only hope that the promise 
which is daily given us by the many, may ere long be fulfilled by the few. 


"There is not so much difference between home house cleaning and 
municipal house cleaning as some people think." These words of William 
Dean Howells have come to our mind many times during the last few 
weeks. The women of New York, who, it is to be supposed, have lived up 
to the traditions of their scrupulous Dutch ancestors, have decided that 
woman's influence is quite as useful and as needful in purifying the city 
government, as in sweeping and airing their own attics. 

Among the many forces which have been at work for the overthrow of 
Tammany, we are proud to know that the Woman's Municipal League is 
acknowledged a powerful factor. Hundreds of earnest, thoughtful women, 
under the leadership of Mrs. Lowell, who is well known for her practical 
charities, as well as for her knowledge of practical sociology, bound themselves 
by a pledge to unceasing effort to arouse public opinion to the ' ' number 
and enormity" of the crimes which have been so persistently overlooked. 
They have come to realize that, though they may not cast the ballot, they 
can exert no small influence by securing a larger registration, and by urging 
upon the men with whom they come in contact the strenuous need of 
municipal reform. 

Not only is it significant that Dr. Parkhurst, who is so strongly 
opposed to woman's suffrage, suggested and encouraged the movement, but 
a most hopeful sign is the fact that the movement was nonpartisan ; women 
of all ranks of life are interested, those who believe in suffrage , and those 
who take a strong stand against it. Mrs. Lowell, who would by her social 
position naturally attract women of keen insight and cultured mind, is able 
through her disinterested philanthropy to reach the women of the working 

The campaign was a systematic one. The most interesting work was 
done among tenement-house mothers, where the wives of workingmen were 
encouraged to tell of the abuses they have been compelled to endure, and 
were taught that through their influence a better atmosphere, morally as 
well as physically, might be gained for their children. 


It has been said that municipal reform just now amounts to a fad, and 
it may be true that it is easier for a thousand to gain followers than for one 
or two ; but where there is so much interest among all classes, and where 
there is so much strong, wholesome enthusiasm, we believe that this organi- 
zation will not disband after four short weeks, but will continue, and will 
help to teach all women that the relation between home and politics is a 
close one. 


There is one subject which has been burning, and boiling, and bubbling 
within me ever since we have had the Free Press, and which I wonder no one 
has attacked before, — and that is the College lunch. We are all proud of 
our College. We love to recall the various pieces of our life there. Some 
of the memories — most of them I think — are very dear ; but there is one 
which, unless I am much mistaken, is correspondingly bitter to all, and that 
is the remembrance of the lunch table. Is there a single alumna who looks 
back upon the noontide meal with pride or complacency ? Is there a single 
girl now at Wellesley who regards the present lunch system with approval ? 

To me it always was, and is, abhorrent. As I look back upon it the 
picture presented to my mind is this : a table spread with various odds and 
ends, chiefly gathered from yesterday's dinner. In the center a platter of cold 
meat or of hash, at either end a plate of bread, at one a plate of gingerbread, 
at the other one containing six pieces of pie. (As the table is spread for 
fourteen, you will observe that half are expected to eat gingerbread and half 
pie. Do you consider these details superfluous? Wait.) There is, in 
addition, a large dish of sauce, — probably oranges and bananas sliced, — and, 
perhaps, a small one of potato. 

Enter a girl who makes a rapid survey of the table, then taking a plate 
helps herself to meat, liberally to potato, taking perhaps one fourth the con- 
tents of the dish ; secures a large slice of gingerbread, ditto of pie, dish of 
sauce, and sits down at the end of the table, where she will not be expected to 
pass anything. But do not blame her on that account. She has a French 


recitation at 1.30, and has not yet had time even to read the lesson over. 
No wonder she is in a hurry. Enter two other girls with books, who go 
through the same performance as number one, and retire to the other end of 
the table, where they eat and gossip sociably. 

Number one jumps up and rushes out as number four comes in. As it 
happens she is not fond of pie or cake, but does like potato, and, having had 
a busy morning and being very hungry, helps herself generously to that 
article, which she eats in the intervals of perusing a mathematics lesson. By 
the time five and six arrive there is no more potato, and the dish is sent out, 
not to return, — a fate too common to excite remark. 

Several others come in and obtain, or go without, cake, pie, sauce, accord- 
ing to the voracity of their predecessors. The banana and orange mixture is 
exhausted, and is replaced by a dark substance known as dried apples, or by 
prunes. The late comers, who have been unfortunately detained by an 
appointment just before lunch, are disconsolately munching bread and butter 
and cold roast beef amid the large complement of empty dishes scattered over 
the now disordered table, and are comparing notes on the past recitation or 
hurriedly consulting their watches, when in walks the teacher with a guest. 
[This last could not happen of course at College Hall, where the faculty 
lunch at a separate table, but at Stone Hall I have seen it occur again and 

As for the other details I have mentioned, they are too firmly ground 
into my memory to be anything but sadly true. Do they not seem familiar, 
students and alumnoe ? and are they pleasant to think upon ? Would we not 
call any of our brothers who at home should do as the young woman I first 
mentioned, greedy and selfish, if, indeed, we employed no stronger term? 
Would you like to take some one whose opinion you prized into one of our 
College dining rooms at noon (I am speaking mainly now of the two larger 
buildings ; things are ordered somewhat better in the cottages, though I am 
of the opinion that there, too, there is room for improvement) , — some refined, 
elderly gentlewoman, perhaps, a friend of your grandmother, or, better still, a 
person opposed to the higher education of women, whom you were trying to 
convert? Would he or she be converted at such a sight? Would it not 
rather strike him as bearing too close a resemblance to the feeding of the 
animals in a menagerie? 


There has been a great deal said and written about the College rush, — 
in the corridors, class room, elevator, bookstore, library, and post office, and, 
in a general way, at meals, — but it seems to me that this is a subject which 
requires a closer and more serious attention than has yet been accorded it. 
Because we have but a brief hour for lunch, curtailed in many cases by 
appointments immediately before and after, the meeting of which cuts off 
several minutes, and because we have left many things to be done at that hour 
which could not be, or at any rate which were not done at another hour, is 
there any reason why we should rush through our lunch in five or ten 
minutes, regardless of all courtesy and good breeding, intent only on getting 
what we want ? Have not we all suffered from indigestion after such rush 
and scramble lunches ? I have, and felt sick and faint for half the afternoon 
following, unable to study or enjoy my recitations. And yet it is natural 
and right that we should be hungry by lunch time. Breakfast was at seven, 
— five and one-half long hours ago, — and we have been working hard all the 
morning. We ought to eat heartily at noon, but we ought to have time 
enough and food enough to do so without violence to our digestions or our 

E. E. B., '92. 


So often is it brought against the Wellesley student that she fails to keep 
in touch with the outside world, that it seems as if there must be some truth 
in the statement. While many students are deeply interested in the great 
world beyond Wellesley, how few are even remotely connected with its 
activity ! 

Last winter, through the Free Press, a most urgent appeal was made to 
the Wellesle}^ students to take some action as a bod} r in regard to the great 
sufferings of the poor. Nothing was done. It was only when we would 
leave, for a few days, the happy, hurrying routine of college life that we at 
all realized what terrible want, and suffering, and despair existed so near our 

We hope that the extreme want of last winter is not to be repeated ; yet 
there will be always the sorrowing and suffering for us to help if we will, and 
it seems as if the students might do much through the work of the Needlework 


Guild. The only requirement for membership of the guild is that two new gar- 
ments be given yearly. These garments should be ready before the close of the 
winter term. Any member may give her articles to any poor person of whom 
she may know; otherwise all donations will be distributed by the guild 

There has been a Wellesley branch of the Needlework Guild of America 
for several years ; yet the membership has been small, and the garments, in 
many cases, grudgingly contributed. Last year only three hundred and 
eighty-two garments were given, which means that only one hundred and 
ninety-one, out of some eight hundred students, are members of the guild. 
Our sisters at Smith, last year, gave over five hundred garments ; and we 
know from Miss Atwood's interesting description of their work, last fall, that 
their larger contribution does not mean that they do less benevolent work in 
other respects. 

It is well understood that our universal excuse for not more generally 
joining the guild is lack of time. It is suggested that the students do their 
sewing on these garments while waiting for quorums, and during prolonged 
class meetings. Surely there are many spare moments which would pass 
quite as pleasantly if we had a bit of sewing in our hands. If we only try 
this, we will probably find that six months will give us abundant time to make 
two garments ; if not, we can help by buying them to give to the same pur- 
pose. The Christian Association is unable to pay Miss Gregg's salary, and 
thus, through lack of funds, has been obliged to give up the most important 
part of our home missionary work ; can we not each do a little individual 
home missionary work through the Needlework Guild ? 

E. R. W., '95. 


During one of those inter-recitational ten minutes, so productive of 
frank criticism with us, conversation chanced to turn on the merits of lectures 
versus recitations ; and, as appeared, the sentiment of the half-dozen in the 
company was unanimously in favor of the former. How it may appear to 
others I do not know, but to me the discussion was certainly suggestive. 

We constantly hear it said that students, and especially women students, 
are prone to employ themselves too much with detail, at the expense of general 


tendencies and underlying principles ; and the charge is too well founded 
to be denied. We lose ourselves in a mass of interesting, but relatively un- 
important fa cts, and we fail to grasp their real, vital significance, the funda- 
mental laws which they illustrate. Doubtless the fault lies largely in each 
individual student's method of study ; but is not the tendency fostered and 
increased by the ever-pressing consciousness of to-morrow's ' ' quiz " ? 

Say what we will, none of us enjoy making a recitation of the unvary- 
ing Je-ne-sais-pas character, and so we spend our energies in preparing 
answers to every possible question, on every possible detail. We thus ac- 
quire a valuable collection of facts, from which some general principle might 
be derived, some tendency inferred. But we have no time left in which to 
derive or infer anything. We go to class, and there the time is occupied by 
the instructor in ascertaining whether or no we have learned these facts. We 
go out of class;, our disconnected facts are still disconnected; our general 
conceptions are vague, or nonexistent. In January we spend a day in re- 
viewing our facts ; in June we spend a day in reviewing our facts ; and 
then, having no common plan to bind them together, we straightway forget 

Of course, this is an extreme conception ; but it will serve, I think, to 
illustrate what may be the tendency of the recitation system. Could we not 
do better work with less of our present nervous worry, if the typical ' ' reci- 
tation " which we used to connect with grammar grades and high schools, 
should be left to those institutions, and its place be taken by the more truly 
university methods of lecture and class discussion ? 


In last month's Magazine an article appeared on parliamentary law, 
and it was made clear that a better understanding of parliamentary law by 
the members of college organizations would save much time. There is an- 
other matter in connection with the various organizations of Wellesley, which 
needs attention before even a keen knowledge of parliamentary law will pre- 
vent students wasting time. This matter is quorums. Time is lost, and the 
dispositions of girls injured, by ineffective "waiting for a quorum." What 
are the reasons for this sad state of affairs? Two principal causes can be 


First, the quorum for ordinary business, as stated in the constitutions, is 
too large. A smaller quorum could transact the business as well, if not bet- 
ter, than a large one. Those who are most interested in class matters, and 
who work best for the class, always attend class meetings. Why need the 
quorum be so large that many girls, caring little for the class, have to be 
literally dragged to meetings that about five minutes' business be transacted ? 
Then, again, because of the large quorum much time is lost while the facto- 
tums hunt through the buildings for these unwilling members. This matter 
can be rectified by an amendment to the constitution, but the second cause is 
more serious, and less easily corrected. Every girl graduating from college 
is considered a member of the class organization with which she graduates. 
There are some in every class who have no ' ' class spirit " ; they care not 
what the class does, and would rather not belong to the organization. What 
is the result of this forced membership ? The class in counting its quorum 
must consider these girls among its members. Is it right or just that those 
girls in the class who are anxious for its welfare, be obliged to waste their 
time waiting for disinterested girls to come to class meeting? C. C. 

I wonder if there is anyone who has not noticed how the singing drags 
in the chapel services. If there is such a one, I want to call her attention to 
it now. The organ and the singing seem often to be having a go-as-you- 
please race, in which the organ gets there first. Sometimes we start in after 
the organ, and keep behind it all the way ; and at other times, when we do 
start in with the organ, we generally go slower and slower, until at the end 
we are dragging as badly as ever. It sounds as if we were too sleepy to 
keep up. Perhaps the trouble, however, is not in the fact that we are sleepy 
in the morning, but in the fact that we have no one to lead us in our singing. 
I do not remember that the singing was not up to time when the Beethoven 
Society used to sit all together on the platform, or when Miss Roberts (Mrs. 
Smith) used to stand beside the organ and lead us with her beautiful voice. 
But though we have no leader, if each girl will make an effort to put some 
life and thought into her singing, and to keep with the organ, I think the 
singing can be made a delight to everyone. B., '95. 



One student, at least, and not a freshman, either, wishes to put on record 
a vigorous protest against our present system of elevator etiquette. Why 
should a senior, rushing up breathlessly at the last moment, enter the elevator 
with no delay and reach her third-floor appointment in due season, while the 
underclass girl, who has already twice watched the departure and hopefully 
looked for the return of that same elevator, only to find each time twelve 
more black-gowned fortunates counted in and the door closed before her, — 
while this one, I say, is left to seek some other more rapid, indeed, but more 
fatiguing, means of elevation to Elocution Hall ? For whom does any bene- 
fit arise from this absurd system of ours ? Surely not to the underclass girls, 
and to the mind of one who has occasionally worn the cap and gown, any 
benefit to anyone else is more than counterbalanced by frequent embarrassing 
situations, in which she does, to save time, what her natural courtesy would 
else forbid her doing. Has anyone any argument to advance in support of 
this time-honored custom? If so, let us hear it: if not, why continue in 
our, if not evil, senseless ways ? 


In the College publications for October, the heavy and light articles are 
more evenly balanced than usual, the abundance of stories and sketches being 
no doubt a sort of reflection of the summer's leisure and pleasures. 

The Vassar Miscellany , in direct contrast to its June number, is composed 
almost wholly of verse and fiction, the longest example of the latter being 
"The Story of a Sister," — a prize story by Jessie B. Hart, '96. 

The Ivy Oration, by Katherine Ware, and the Ivy Song, by Venila 
Spaulding Burrington, fill the first pages of the /Smit7i College Monthly, 
while the rest of the magazine is devoted to stories, — those treasures of 
college editors, so often sought in vain and so cherished when found. 

All interested in the growth and progress of our colleges for women, will 
be glad to read in the Mt. Holt/oke the report of Miss Sarah A. Stewart, '67, 
of the progress of the plan started by the Class of '67 for the endowment of 
a Chair of Pedagogy in that institution. And while they have the magazine 


in hand, they will find interesting and profitable reading in the review by 
Fanny Holmes Abbot, '94, of Walter Pater's "Imaginary Portraits." 

A leading article worthy of special note is Frederick L. Luqueer's 
' ' Appledore and its Poet " : " The island . . . with a soul, deep and rugged, 
though at times tender and gay as a bird ; Celia Thaxter, . . . the human 
poet, — the lips of the soul." 

Dr. R. A. Guild contributes as the leading article of the Broion Maga- 
zine, "Commencement Customs," in which he traces the changes and 
developments of these customs at Brown University from the olden time to 
the present day. 

"The Study of Literature for College Writers," by Arthur A. Macurda, 
advocates such a study, as it " will enable a student to do far better work along 
literary lines than would be possible if he were content to plod along illumi- 
nated only by his own ideas, and guided solely by his own instinctive and 
probably defective sense of form and style." 

This article finds a companion in "College Rhymers," by Herbert A. 
Jump, in the Amherst Monthly. All must agree with the writer of this 
article that the rhymers of the "erotic class," rather than those of the 
"metaphysical" or "terrestrial" classes, are the true college rhymers; and 
that in the field of light verse does the college rhymer reap his most valuable 

We miss from our Exchange table this month several of the magazines 
which have gladly been given a place there heretofore, and we trust will be 
found there again in the coming months. 

From the verse of the month we clip the following from the Wesley an 
Literary Monthly : — 


The sungleam and the dark, 

Vesper and matin bells : 
The greeting hands of yesterday ; 

The morrow, and farewells. 

The cradle and the morn ; 

The eve and ebbing sense ; 
And who shall tell us whither, 

And who shall say from whence? 


Behind us lies the void, 

Before us is the dark, 
As on the slender boat of Time 

We tremblingly embark. 

By sun — by stars — we sail, 
And tempt the dangerous sea ; 

We only know our vessel's prow 
Is toward eternity. 

The sungleam and the dark, 
Vesper and matin bells ; 

The greeting hands in yonder port, 
But in the earth, farewells. 


Citizenship. By Julius H. Seelye. Ginn & Co., Boston. 

In our High Schools there has long been felt the need of some book 
which will lay the foundation for a thorough course in civics. This book, 
by the late President of Amherst College, meets this need admirably. It is 
a careful study of the basis on which the whole structure of government and 
law rests, since it emphasizes the sovereignty of the people. The book first 
takes up the characteristics of government with its relations to human life, 
and then considers the questions of its rights and duties. The writer has 
prepared as an introduction a concise and exhaustive outline, which he fol- 
lows strictly. 

The rights and duties of citizenship are treated under the two divisions 
of international and national law ; the latter is again divided into public 
and private law. International law is considered in its application to peace 
and to war ; public law is treated as constitutional and administrative ; 
private law as political and civil. The paragraphs are illustrated by charac- 
teristic examples of American government, though the subject matter is 
never burdened by any legal technicalities. 

The book will commend itself to professor and scholar alike, either as 
an outline for further study, or as a means for a general survey of the execu- 
tive, judicial, and administrative functions of government. 

Among the books received this month is a volume entitled ' ' Selections 
from Ruskin," published by Ginn & Co., Boston. The book is edited by 


Mrs. Lois G. Gufford, who has made several careful introductory studies. 
The many annotations will make it a valuable text-book for high-school use. 
Several books which reached us too late for reviewing in this issue, are 
acknowledged under "Books Received." 


The Philosophy of Teaching, by Arnold Tompkins. Boston : Ginn 
& Co. 

Citizenship, by Julius H. Seelye. Boston : Ginn & Co. 

Selections from the Essays of John Ruskin, Mrs. Lois G. Gufford. 
Boston : Ginn & Co. 

The First Latin Book, by William C. Collar, A.M., and M. Grant 
Daniell, A.M. Boston : Ginn & Co. 

Latin at Sight, by Edwin Post. Boston : Ginn & Co. 90 cts. 

Mediaeval Europe, by Ephraim Emerton, Ph.D. Boston : Ginn & Co. 

Four Months in New Hampshire, a sequel to " Black Beauty," by Mrs. 
Ellen A. Barrows. Revised and published by the American Humane 
Education Society. 

A Scientific French Reader, by Alexander W. Herdler. Boston : 
Ginn & Co. 85 cts. 


The regular programme meeting of the Agora was held October 27th. 
The society received into its membership, Miss North, '97; Miss Bixby, 
'97; Miss Hathaway, '97; Miss Davis, '97; Miss Devol, '97. The pro- 
gramme of the evening was as follows : — 

Impromptu speeches. 

Lord Roseberry and England's Foreign Policy, Elizabeth Zeigler. 

Woman's Crusade in New York City . . Anne Bixby. 

Belgian Elections ..... Grace Caldwell. 



History of the Tariff Bill and Summer Legislation, Mary Prior. 
The War between China and Japan . . Helen Bisbee. 

Work of the Lexow Committee . . Belinda Bogardus. 

Strikes of the Summer and the Labor Questions, Clara Benson. 

An informal discussion on the subjects of the meeting followed. 

The regular meeting of the Classical Society was held October 27th. 
The following programme was presented : — 

Incidents in the Lives of the Ancients. 
iEneas . 
Alexander the Great 
Dido . 

Pliny the Younger 
Andromache . 
Psyche . 

Annie Leonard. 

Beatrice Stepanek. 

Mabel Rand. 

Edith Dexter. 

Annie Chute. 

Nellie Stimpson. 

Margaret Simmons. 

Caroline Peck. 

Grace Townsend. 

Julia Randall. 

Irene Kahn. 

Ida Brooks. 

Mary Chapin. 

The regular meeting of the Shakespeare Society was held in Hathaway 
Hall, Saturday evening, October 27th. The programme of the meeting 
was the study of the " Merchant of Venice," and consisted of the following 
numbei's : — 

Shakespeare News .... Gertrude Rushmore. 

The Setting of the Play . . . Grace Miller. 

Dramatic Representation : " Merchant of Venice," Act II. Scene II. 
A Plot Study ..... Katharine Conner. 

Discussion : Study of the Scenes. 

A Character Sketch, " Lorenzo and Jessica," May Merrill. 

Dramatic Representation : " Merchant of Venice," Act V. Scene I. 



At a meeting of Phi Sigma held Saturday, October 27th, the following 
programme was presented : — 

The Primitive Short Story .... Anna Witherle. 

Russian Short Story ..... Mabel Davison. 

Alice Schouler. 

May Woodin. 

Julia Lyman. 

Lilian Brandt. 

French Short Story . 
The Universal Short Story . 

Selections from the Arabian Nights 
Boccaccio and the Short Story 
Miss Holly, '92, Miss Lauderburn, '92, Miss Eager, '93, and Miss 
Holmes, '94, were present at the meeting. 

The regular meeting of Society Zeta Alpha was held September 26th. 
The programme was as follows : — 
The Present Social Conditions 
Some Causes of the Social Disturbances 
A Voice from the People 
The Capitalists' View .... 
An informal discussion followed. 
Miss Helen Storer, '89, was present at the meeting. 

Mary Field. 

Pearl Underwood. 

Martha Shackford. 

Elizabeth H. Peale. 


Monday, November 26th. — Lecture, Rev. George Knox. 

Saturday, December 1st. — Senior Sociable. 

Monday, December 3d. — Concert. 

Sunday, December 9th. — Rev. Henry A. Stimson, D.D., New York. 

Monday, December 10th. — Lecture, Prof. Francis H. Stoddard. 

Sunday, December 16th. — Dean George Hodges, Cambridge. 

Monday, December 17th. — Concert. 


Wellesley is ever improving. The two changes which have been noticed 
in the College during the last few weeks are small, but so helpful that one 
wonders that they have not been introduced before. A long-distance tele- 


phone lias been placed in the General Office ; and reference bulletin boards 
have been hung by the library door, and in the second floor center. 

The first concert of the college year was an organ recital, given by Mr. 
Henry M. Dunham, on Monday evening, October 8th. His rendering of a 
selection from Mendelssohn was especially appreciative, and called forth 
Wellesley's most enthusiastic applause. 

On Sunday evening, October 14th, Miss Bates conducted the senior 
prayer meeting. She spoke of the sacred poems of Christina Eossetti, and 
presented the Class of '95 with a copy of these lyrics. 

Miss Sarah E. Capps, '95, is so much better that she has been moved 
from the Newton Hospital to the home of friends in Maiden. She will soon 
be able to return to her home in Jacksonville, HI. 

Miss Gertrude Wilson has been elected president of the Shakespeare 
Society, to fill the position left vacant by Miss Capps. 

On Monday, October 15th, Dr. Arbuthnot gave an illustrated lecture on 
Stratford-on-Avon. He is vicar of the Church of the Holy Trinity, 
which Shakespeare formerly attended. By his thorough knowledge of the 
country, and by his fine collection of pictures, he was able to take his 
audience across the seas, and back in years, to the home and the time of the 
great English dramatist. 

On Monday evening, October 2 2d, a concert was given by Mr. C. L. 
Staats, clarinet virtuoso, assisted by Miss Jessie M. Downer, piariiste, and 
Miss Jennie Corea, soprano. 

Miss Mabel Wellman has been made editor-in-chief of the '95 " Legenda" 

Miss Helen Storer, '89, has spent a week at Noruinbega with Mrs. 

The Class of '96 is again rampant upon reform. They have decided to 
divide their days into periods of eight hours each. One of these periods is 
to be devoted to study, another to recreation, and another to sleep. It is to 
be hoped that their increased vigor, in both mind and body, will induce 
others to follow their example. 


The inter-class tennis tournament took place Monday, October 15th. 
The champions of the several classes were Miss Barker, '98, Miss Dewson, 
'97, Miss Cobbs, '96, and Miss Chase, '95. Miss Dewson and. Miss Chase 
played the finals, Miss Dewson winning the championship of the College on 
a score of 5-1. She received a "Sear's Special" tennis racquet, presented 
by the Boston firm of Wright & Ditson. 

Miss Elva Young has compiled a little pamphlet for the use of the Agora. 
It is entitled the "Legal Status of Women under the Laws of Massachusetts." 

The departments of History and Literature have arranged a series of 
lectures and readings to be held every Saturday afternoon. They will be 
given by people of note upon the familiar matters of to-day. The first 
entertainment in this course was a delightful reading by Mrs. Margaret 
Deland, from her poems and prose tales. A reception was afterwards held 
for Mrs. Deland in the faculty parlors. 

Miss Curtis, '90, Miss White, '93, Miss Eager, '93, Misses Angell, 
Drake, Thompson, Laughlin, Mitchell, Pope, of '94, have been among the 
former students who have lately visited the College. 

A reception in honor of Mrs. Durant and the new members of the 
faculty was held by Mrs. Irvine, on Monday evening, October 29th, in the 
faculty parlor. 

Halloween was celebrated this fall with its usual good cheer. The 
different houses vied with each other as to their method of entertainment. 
At Wood, an informal dance was followed by stories around a roaring fire. 
The seniors of Freeman Cottage gave a clever little farce, after which the 
lamps were put out, and by the flickering firelight ghosts and refreshments 
were discussed. Fun ran high at Norumbega ; the second and third floors 
each furnished an entertainment. It would be hard to decide whether the 
realistic presentation of ' ' Young Lochinvar" or the menagerie were the 
success of the evening. Anyone who had experienced a former Halloween 
at the Main Building, would have been astonished to peep into the dining 
room of College Hall on this thirty-first of October. The tables glittered 
with their holiday array, the girls shone resplendent in evening gowns, but 
during the entire first course not a sentence, not a word, was uttered. 


During the second course the college women had seemingly returned to the 
days of their childhood, talking only in words of one syllable. By the time 
dessert was reached they had become evolutionized to the point where words 
of two syllables were a possibility. After dinner the usual masquerade dance 
was held in the gymnasium. The inmates of Stone Hall, being of a more 
altruistic disposition, gave a musicale to the Pierian Sodality of Harvard 
College, and other outside guests. 

Professor Coman delivered a lecture on Saturday afternoon, November 
3d, her subject being " The Land of the Czars." 


The first annual dinner of the Worcester Wellesley Club, which took 
place Friday evening, October 26th, at the Bay State, was a most successful 
inauguration for the new organization. Beginning in September with 
15 members, the society now numbers 40, and of these, 31 assisted at the 
festivities of last evening. At 6.30 the girls began to assemble, and an 
informal and very sociable reception followed, with photographs of the 
College and reminiscence of former days. 

At 8 o'clock all repaired to the dining-room, where a collation was 
served. The long tables were arranged to form three sides of a square. 
Miss Mary Whipple, president of the club, took the head of the table ; on 
her left sat Miss Conyngton, the guest of honor of the evening. ' The 
other places were occupied by the officers of the club. 

After the girls had done ample justice to a most elaborate menu, Miss 
Whipple called the company to order, and in a happy speech gave formal 
greeting to the daughters of Wellesley assembled before her. She then 
introduced Miss Alice G. Arnold, who officiated as toastmaster in a bright 
and charming manner. There were five toasts. Miss Whipple responded 
to the first, "Wellesley of the Olden Time," giving interesting reminis- 
cences of the opening of the College and library, and of the founder, Mr. 

" Sons-in-Law and Grandchildren," was the subject of Mrs. Frank W. 
Blair's amusing toast. Then came t\\Q piece de resistance, so to speak, of the 


evening, when Miss Conyngton, of Boston, spoke for "College Settle- 
ments." Miss Conyngton is connected with the Dennison House in Tyler 
Street, Boston, and her descriptions of the visiting, the parties, and the 
Shakespeare classes were of intense interest. 

Mrs. May Sleeper-Buggies responded for " Specials," and Miss Annie 
May Henderson made some witty remarks apropos the ' ' Wellesley of 

The last number on the programme was the singing of the Wellesley 
College song, "To Alma Mater," which was joined by all the company, 
standing. The Wellesley cheer, given in thrilling effect, ended an evening 
of great social enjoyment to all present. No club could have a more suc- 
cessful inauguration, or one more gratifying in every way to its well-wishers, 
than had the Wellesley Club last night. 

The officers of the Club are : Miss Mary E. Whipple, president ; Miss 
Lillian M. Crawford, vice president ; Miss Maude A. Dodge, secretary ; 
Mrs. Frank W. Blair, Miss Carrie M. Pierce, Miss Alice G. Arnold, execu- 
tive committee. 

Those present were : Miss Anna Arnold, Miss Alice Arnold, Miss 
Lilian Atwood, Mrs. Frank Blair, Miss Adeliza Brainerd, Mrs. H. W. 
Cobb, Miss Mary Collins of Southboro, Miss Mary Coolidge, Miss Mary 
Conyngton of Boston, Miss Helena Corey of Spencer, Miss Lillian 
Crawford, Miss Abbie Davis, Miss Maude Dodge, Miss Martha God- 
dard, Miss Annie May Henderson, Miss Mary Herrick, Miss Mary Jillson, 
Miss Helen Lincoln, Miss Mary Lincoln, Miss Bertha Longley, Miss Ger- 
aldine Longley, Mrs. Gilbert Manley of Spencer, Miss Grace Mix, Mrs. 
Mary Jenks Page, Miss Carrie Pierce, Miss Harriet Pierce, Mrs. Everett 
Prouty of Spencer, Mrs. May Sleeper-Ruggles, Miss Mary Townsend, Miss 
Lucia Upham, Miss Mary E. Whipple, Miss Eleanor Whiting. 

A meeting of the Boston Wellesley Association was held Saturday, 
October 27th, in Stone Hall parlor. The meeting was called to order by 
Mrs. Mary Putnam Hart, of Cambridge, and after the reading of the 
minutes, Professor Coman gave a talk on College Settlements. Twelve 
colleges are represented in the Settlement Association. They are Wellesley, 


Smith, Bryn Mawr, Vassar, Cornell, Kadcliffe, Wells, Packer Institute, 
Swarthmore, Elmira, Mt. Holyoke, Baltimore. The membership of the 
Association is about one thousand, of which one hundred and thirty-five are 
from Wellesley. The income from membership fees was, for the year 
ending Sept. 1, 1892, $3,769, for the year ending Sept. 1, 1893, 
$4,380, and for the year ending Sept. 1, 1894, $4,685. Wellesley's 
contribution to this income was, for '92, $635 ; for '93, $551 ; for '94, 
$673.50. Three fifths of the annual contribution was from the alumnae. 

Mrs. Irvine then gave an account of the changes and improvements at 
Wellesley, and the outlook for the coming year. She spoke of Dr. Char- 
lotte Roberts' return to the College, of the two new teachers in the Zoologi- 
cal department, the union of the Romance Languages under one head, the 
removal of the third and fourth ffirl from the hitherto crowded rooms in the 
main building, and the new buildings, Fiske Cottage and the Chemical 

Refreshments were served, and the remainder of the time was passed 

The following is a list of the various Wellesley Associations : — 

Boston Wellesley Club. Secretary, Miss Jane Furber, '92, Boston, Mass. 

Cleveland Wellesley Association. 

Maine Wellesley Association. 

Wellesley Club of New York. 

Western New York Wellesley Association. Secretary, Miss Mary E. 
Welsh, Livingston Park Seminary, Rochester, N. Y. 

Philadelphia Wellesley Club. Secretary, Miss Elizabeth W. Braley, 
1328 Spruce Street, Philadelphia, or 619 County Street, New Britain, Conn. 

Southern Wellesley Association. 

St. Louis Wellesley. Association. 

Washington Wellesley Association. Secretary, Julia M. Green. 

Western Wellesley Association. Secretary, Miss Evangeline Sherwood, 
'94, Chicago. 

Los Angeles Wellesley Club. Secretary, Miss Leona Lebus, '89, 648 
South Olive Street, Los Angeles, California. 


Connecticut Valley Wellesley Club. Secretary, Katharine Horton, '89, 
Windsor Locks, Conn. 

Worcester Wellesley Association. Secretary, Miss Maude A. Dodge, 

Will the Secretaries of the "Wellesley Associations who have as yet sent 
no report to the Alumna? Editor, kindly do so as soon as possible. 

Miss Isabel Bronck, '79-81, Ph.B., Illinois, Wesleyan University, is 
teaching in the Misses Ely's School, Riverside, New York City. 

Miss Elizabeth Jones, '84, is teaching with Miss Hills, 1808 Spruce 
Street, Philadelphia, Penn. 

Miss S. Lillian Burlingame, '85, is teaching in the Humboldt High 
School, St. Paul, Minn. 

Miss Eliza Hall Kendrick, '85, has returned to the College as instructor 
in the department of Old Testament and Hebrew. 

Miss Emily E. Gregory, '85, is teaching in Milwaukee College, 

Miss Jessie L. Van Vliet, '85, has received the degree of M.A. from the 
University of Michigan. 

Miss Alice M. Allen, '85, is teaching in Dana Hall, Wellesley, Mass. 

Miss Lydia B. Essex, '85, is teaching this year in the High School, 
Derby, Conn. 

Miss Mary F. Hurlburt, '87, is teaching in Wilson College, Chambersburg, 

Miss Sarah J. Storms, '87, has taken the degree of M.A. at Radclitfe 

Miss Alice E. Dixon, '87, is teaching in Drew Seminary, Carmel, N. Y. 

Miss Nancy C. George, '88, is teaching Latin and History in the 
Woburn, Mass., High School. 

Miss Emma Pleasants, '89, is teaching in Miss Pierson's school, in Palo 
Alto, and studying in Leland Stanford University. 


The engagement of Miss Mary Lowe Stevens, '89, to Mr. John Whistler, 
of Denver, Colorado, is announced. 

Miss Clare Wade, '89, returned home from her European trip in Sep- 

Miss Helen Holmes, '89, and Miss Ruth Abbott, '89, are both studying 
Kindergarten in Boston. 

The winter address of Miss Alice Libby, '89, is 187 rue de la Pompe, 
Passy, Paris. 

Miss Helen A. Parker, '90, has accepted a position in Miss Lewin's 
private school, Mt. Sterling, Ky. 

Miss Bessie L. Cook, '90, has completed her library course at Pratt 

Miss Mary L. Fish, '90, is teaching in the Riverside School, Auburndale, 


Miss Helen Ruth Hibbard, '94, is teaching in Miss Williams' school, 

No. 4 Linden St., Worcester, Mass. 

Miss Isabel Sinclair, '90, is teaching at Summit, N. J. 

Miss Strobridge, formerly of '90, — whose death in Rome, April 19th, 
brought so much sorrow to her friends, — had been spending the winter in Italy, 
and had arranged to sail for America the week of her illness. The summer of 
'93 had been passed at her sister's home in Sicily, but the winter was devoted 
to study in Rome. She had many friends there, both Italian and American. 
Every effort was made to check the fatal illness, but in vain. She rests now 
in the Protestant cemetery, just outside the walls, near the gate through 
which St. Paul passed to his martyrdom. 

Miss M. Emogene Hazeltine, '91, has charge of the Public Library, 
Jamestown, N. Y. 

Miss Alma E. Beale, '91, is teaching Science in the Naugatuek, Conn., 
High School. 

Miss Caroline B. Perkins, '91, is teaching in the High School at Mans- 
field, Mass. 


Miss Florence Dean, '91, is teaching at Soule College, Murfreesboro, 

Miss Annie L. Durflinger, '91, is teaching in Middletown, N. Y. 

Miss Alice R. Jackson, '91, is teaching in Miss Lockwood's school, Mt. 
Vernon, N. Y. 

Miss Amy A. Whitney, '89-91, is teaching in the Western Female 
Seminary, Oxford, Ohio. 

Mrs. Charlotte Miller, Middlebrook, '91, lives in Atlanta, Georgia, 
where she will be glad to meet old Mends at 38 Euclid Ave., Inman Park, 
Atlanta, Ga. 

Miss Sarah M. Roberts, '91, is teaching in Miss Mason's school, 
Media, Penn. 

Miss Alice Stevens, '91, is teaching in the Hartford, Conn., High School. 
Miss Mary R. Eastman, '92, is teaching in Lyndon Hall, Poughkeepsie, 
N. Y. 

Miss Vinnie J. Libbey, '92, 'will teach this year in the Cleveland, O., 
High School. 

Miss Theresa B. Stanton, '92, is teaching in the Manchester, N. H., 
High School.. 

Miss Agnes M. Shaw, '92, is teaching this year in the Misses Stevens' 
School, New Gloucester, Me. 

Miss Marion F. Randolph, '92, has just entered upon a four years' course 
at the Woman's Medical College of New York. 

Miss Clara M. Burt, '92, is again at Northfield. 

Miss Flora A. Randolph, formerly of '92, is teaching in Miss Bennett's 
private school at Irvington-on-Hudson. 

Miss Anna Reed Wilkinson, '92, is spending a year in Paris, studying 
Art. Her address is 117 rue Notre Dame des Champs, care Mme. Fuster. 

Miss Erne Thompson, '87-92, will hold the Biblical scholarship at Bryn 
Mawr this year. 


Miss Frances C. Lance, '92, is teaching at Woodward Institute, Quincy, 

Miss Alice Newman, '92, starts for Los Angeles, October 30th, to spend 
the winter with Miss Sarah Bixby, '94. 

The address of Mrs. Isabel Northey Murray, '92, is 46 Pearl Street, 
Somerville, Mass. 

Miss Clara B. Count, '93, is principal of the High School, Somerset, 

Miss Alice E. Denny, '91-93, is teaching in the Wellesley School,. 
Evans ville, Ind. 

Miss Stella Hoghton, '93, is teaching in the High School, Hillsboro, 111. 

Mrs. Mattie Hocker Jenkins, '93, is living at 46 Langdon Street, Cam- 
bridge. Mr. Jenkins will graduate from the Divinity School at Harvard, in 
June, 1895. 


Holmbs-Mabie. — On Wednesday, Oct. 3, 1894, Miss Grace Mabie, 
formerly '95, to Mr. George P. Holmes. At home Tuesdays, Chapman 
House, Pawling, New York. 

Tracy-Blakeslee. — On Wednesday, Oct. 24, 1894, Miss Elizabeth 
M. Blakeslee, '91, to Mr. John Tracy. 


August, 1894, a son to Mrs. Sophie Bogue Huff, '85-87, at 5 Washing- 
ton Place, Chicago, 111. 

March, 1894, a third son, Stanley, to Mrs. Nellie Traversee Patterson, '89. 

Oct. 11, 1894, a son to Mrs. Elinor Kimball Bruce Snow, '92, 106 Elm 
Street, Stoneham, Mass. 


At Rome, Italy, April 19, 1894, Mabel Strobridge, formerly of the 
Class of '90. 


Jameson & Knowles Company, 


Boots, Shoes, and 

Specialties: Custom Work, Party Shoes 


No. 15 Winter Street, Boston, 
U. S. A. 


Stationers *? Engravers 


20 per cent Discount 


Made by Wellesley College Students. 

No. 3 Beacon Street, 

VOUR attention is called to our stock of 

Gold and Silver Stick Pins 1 
Birthday Gifts ! 

Souvenir Spoons, Souvenir Cups. 
Hair Ornaments. 

Toilet and Desk Furnishings in Sterling and Plated Silver; Marble and Iron Clocks, $6.00 to $20.00. 

Stock in all departments always complete. 

A. StOWell & Co., 24 Winter Street, Boston. 

Cotrell & Leonardo* 

New York, 

Makers of 

Caps and 

To the 

American . . 

Illustrated ... 

Catalogue and 
% Particulars on 

' e M t 

Artists' Materials . . . 

£k Drafting Instruments. 
Art Studies and Books. 

Oil and Water Colors, Crayons, Materials 
For Tapestry, Painting, etc. 

Wadsworth, Howland & Co. 

82 and 84 Washington Street, Boston. 

Branch Store in the 

Grundmann Studios, Clarendon Street, 

Near St. James Avenue. 
Principal Factories 

Maiden, Mass., and Paris, Maine. 



Mackintoshes and Cravenettes, 


$2.00 TO $25.00. 

Ulellesley Preparatory, 

Prices 25 per cent lower than Dry Goods Stores. 

. . . Special IO per cent to Wellesley Students . . . 



Metropolitan Rubber Co., 

Miss Charlotte H. Conant, B.A. 


Miss Florence Bigelow, M.A. 


Gloves and Veiling. 



Calls the attention of the Young Ladies to her stock of Kid. Undressed Kid, and Dog Skin Gloves that 

are suitable for all occasions, also her very becoming stock of Veilings, and solicits their 

patronage, and will give to any of the students 6 per cent discount. 

Hotel Bellevue, 



Special attention given to Club Dinners and Receptions. 





Manufacturers of First-class 


Interior Decorations, 

Nos. 38 to 48 Cornhill, 





in all Departments 
of Literature . 

can be found at our store. The largest 
assortment in Boston of the popular and 
standard authors. Also a large variety 
at special reductions. Large variety of 
Bibles, Prayer Books, Booklets, etc. 

We are noted for low prices. 


The Archway Bookstore, 

361 rf» 365 WASHINGTON ST., BOSTON. 

Shreve, Crump I Low Go. 

Jewelers # Silversmith 


Pine Stationery. Card Engraving. 

Programs and Invitations, both printed and 
engraved. Class Day Progams a specialty. 

Class Pins designed and manufactured to 

Parasols and Umbrellas made to order, re- 
covered and repaired. 


- .ONLY. . 

First Glass Tlmd Car Route 


Through Trains Leave Boston as follows : — 
8.30 a. m. (ex. Sunday) Day Express. 
10.30 a. m. (daily) Chicago Special. 
2.00 p. m. (daily) North Shore Limited. 
3.00 p. m. (ex. Sundays) St. Louis and 

Chicago Express. 
7.15 p. m. (daily) Pacific Express. 


Hartford,New Havens New York. 



9.00 a. m. 

(ex. Sunday) 

3.30 p. in. 

11.00 a. m. 

ex. Sunday) 

5.30 p. m. 

4.00 p. m. 


10.00 p. m. 

11.00 p. m. 


6.41 a. m. 

For tickets, 

information, time-tables, etc., apply 

to nearest ticket agent. 


General Passenger Agent. 




Golf, Tennis, Basket Ball, Gymnasium, and 
General Athletic Goods. 

SWEATERS in Great Variety. 

Special discount of IS per cent to Wellesley Students. Send 
for Catalogue. 


No. 344 Washington Street, 



11 John Street, New rjork, 

Designer and Maker 

Society Badges, 
Fraternity Pins, 
Rings, Emblem 
Jewels of every 
MEDALS — Trophies for presentation, from original 
and artistic designs. Special designs, with esti- 
mates, furnished on application. Inquiries by 
mail promptly attended to. We send design 
plates FREE upon request. 

Wellesley Pins can be obtained from Miss Eliz- 
abeth Stark, Business Manager of Magazine. 

The Dana Hall School, 


Pupils are prepared for regular or for special courses at 
Wellesley College. 

Price for Board and Tuition, $500 for the school year ; 
Tuition for day pupils, $125. 

For further information address the Principals : 

Julia A. Eastman, 
Sarah P. Eastman. 




Trunks and Bags, 

Pure Drugs and Medicines. 

No. 22 Cliauncy Street, 

Physicians' Prescriptions a Specialty. 




Crepe Art Department 

will, for the next sixty days, contain 
much that will impress those who 
are interested in manipulating this 
modern and effective material. We 
are enabled through careful study and 
long experience to get the very latest 
and highest effects in 

Table and Room Decoration, 


Flowers and Novelties 

made from same furnish a complete 
_ _ surprise to all who do not fully realize 
the possibilities of crepe paper. 

Our artists in attendance will be glad at any 
time to give suggestions and advice regarding the 
most effective use of our papers. 


No. 28 Franklin Street, Boston. 

For Fine Millinery 

Visit . . . 


Mo. 21 Temple Place, 



Corns, 25 cents: 


plaster for tender feet 25cts. 

Ladies' and Gentlemen's rooms 

entirely separate 


The Senior Class Photographer 

is . . . 

Charles W. Hearn, 

No « 39 2 Boylston Street, 
Boston, Mass. 

Arrange dates with the Senior Class Photograph 
Committee : 

Miss Bertha Morrill. 
Miss Caroline Jacobus. 
Miss Sophie Voorhees. 

Also Photographer to . . . 

Amherst College . 
Dartmouth College 
CS$ Mt. Holyoke College . 

@ B. U. College of Liberal Arts 

Lasell Seminary 
Wesleyan University 
Etc., etc. 



146 Treiiiont Street, Boston. 

Branch of 

863 Broadway, N. Y. 

Pure, Fresh, and Delicious 


A Choice Selection of Fancy Baskets, 
Boxes, and Bonbonnieres constantly 
on hand at very reasonable prices. . . 

Mail Orders given Prompt Attention. 


Leonard N. Howe, D.M.D. 


Late Instructor of Dental Surgery in 
Harvard University. 

Office Hours, 9 A. M. to 5 P. M. 


Oculists' prescriptions correctly filled. 

Glasses carefully fitted and adjusted to 
insure nose comfort. 

Ten per cent discount to 
Wellesley Students. 


All kinds of spectacle repairing neatly executed. 
References given. 

CHARLES W. HURLL, Jr., Practical Optician, 

409 Washington St., (between Winter and Bromfield Sts.) 

•••Kine Carpets- •• 




William Morris's Patterns in Carpets and Hammersmith Rugs. 

We feel that our Fall Stock will bear the Closest Inspection. 

Joel Goldthwait & Company, 

Nos. 163 to 169 Washington Street, Boston. 



Will call for and deliver clothes at all the College Buildings. 

Plain Clothes by the dozen. 
Fancy Ironing by the hour. 
No bleach or acid used, but clothes dried in the 
open air, weather permitting. 

Fine work of all kinds a specialty. Clothes 
handled carefully and ironed neatly. 

A card to the Wellesley Steam Laundry will be 
promptly attended to. 

J. T. MELLUS, Proprietor. 

The holmes company 

Patent Onion undergarment 

Is made to 

Fit the Form . . . 

And is unlike any other garment. 


Equestrian Tights, etc. 

Specialties to order. 

No. 49 Temple Plhce, Boston. 




Session '94~'95 opens October i, 1894. Three years, Graded Course. Instruction 
by Lectures, Clinics, Recitations and practical work, under supervision in Laboratories 
and Dispensary of College, and in U. S. Infirmary. Clinics and operations in most of 
the City Hospitals and Dispensaries open to Women Students. 

For Catalogues, etc., address 


321 East 15th. Street, New York. 


She : When we got our 
wheels last year we didn't 
suppose there could be any 
better ones, did we? 

He : No ; but the '94's are 
ahead of them. They are 
better accommodated to the 
different heights of riders. 
They are lighter, because of 
the new Columbia seamless 

She : The saddles are 
more comfortable. 

He : And stronger, too. 
And these guards and break 
work will never let you catch 
your gown. 

She : Do you know what 
my gown is ? The Columbia 
Bicycle habit. Redfern of 
New York designed it for the 
company, and it is just the 


and instructor in riding. Free 
instruction to purchasers. All 
orders promptly executed. 
Catalogues free on applica- 

Wellesley College, 

0/ iHiPtiS* J>**e 





In every department of our store we allow Wellesley 

Professors and Students a discount, 

generally 10 per cent. 

During the year you will notice many attractive goods which your friends at home 
would be glad to see. We shall be glad to send samples at your request. 

Dress Goods, Hosiery, Neckwear, Millinery, 
Underwear and Art Embroideries 

are perhaps some of the departments most interesting to students, but the discount applies 
to every department. 


Tremont Street and Temple Place - - BOSTON, MASS. 

Houghton, Mifflin & Co.'s Holiday Books. 

Their Wedding Journey. 

By W. D. Howells. Holiday Edition. Fully illustrated 
by Clifford Carleton, and bound in very attractive style 
from a design by Mrs. Whitman. Crown 8vo, $3.00. 

Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. 

In the remarkable translation of Edward Fitzgerald. 
With a biography of Omar Khayyam, and 56 superb illus- 
trations by Elinu Vedder. Popular Edition. Crown Svo, 

The Last Leaf. 

By Oliver Wendell Holmes. Popular Holiday Edi- 
tion. With a touching Prefatory Letter by Dr. Holmes, 
and many illustrations by Hopkinson Smith and Geo. 
Wharton Edwards. Crown 8vo, $1.50. 

The Oliver Wendell Holmes Year Book. 

Selections from Dr. Holmes' prose and poetry, for Every 
Day of the Year. With a fine portrait. Attractively bound. 
i6mo, $1.00. 

Little Mr. Thimblefinger, and His Queer 

A delightful book for young folks (and older ones). By 
Joel Chandler Harris, author of the " Uncle Remus 
books. Fully and charmingly illustrated by Oliver 
Herford. Square 8vo, $2.00. 

The Story of a Bad Boy. 

By Thomas Bailey Aldrich. Holiday Edition. With 
numerous illustrations by A. B. Frost. Crown octavo, 
finely printed and bound in unique style, forming an ex- 
ceedingly attractive book. $2.00. 

Timothy's Quest. 

A fine Holiday Edition of one of Mrs. Wiggin's most 
popular stories. Very fully and artistically illustrated by 
Oliver Herford, and attractively bound. Crown Svo, 

In Sunshine Land. 

Poems for Young Folks. By Edith M. Thomas. Illus- 
trated by Katharine Pvle. Crown Svo, handsomely 
bound, $1.50. 

Whittier's Poetical Works. 

Complete in a new Cambridge Edition. With a biograph- 
ical sketch, notes, index to titles and first lines, a portrait, 
and an engraving of Whittier's Amesbury home. Uniform 
with the Cambridge Longfellow. Crown 8vo, gilt top, 
$2.00; half calf, gilt top, $3.50; tree calf, or full levant, $5.50. 

John Green leaf Whittier. 

Life and Letters, by Samuel T. Pickard. With portraits 
and views. 2 vols., crown Svo, gilt top, $4.00. A work 
which all lovers of Whittier will welcome with peculiar 

Sold by all Booksellers. Sent, post-paid, by 

Houghton, Mifflin <& Co., Boston. 

Frank Wood, Printer, Boston.